How the Garbage Man Saved My Marriage...

Yes, that is a very dramatic title, isn't it?  Now, before you get all hot and bothered (mom) worrying about the state of my marriage, here's the truth...I may have overstated the issue a bit.  I'm going to lay it all out for you, though, and I think you'll understand where I'm coming from.

Here is my theory about why people get divorced:  teeny tiny little problems (like who should take the trash to the dump or do the dishes after dinner) turn into bigger problems (like hating each other), then the biggest problems (cheating, etc) turn into D-I-V-O-R-C-E.  Yeah, I know what you're saying.  Many marriages are shams, many wives are bitches and/or nags, many husbands are just douchebags and/or clueless, every rose has it's thorn...blah, blah, blah.  Those aren't the type of marriages I'm talking about.  I'm talking about everyone else.  Your friends, in-laws, boss, whoever.  The type of people who, when they announce they are getting a divorce, cause shocked silence, weeping and gnashing of teeth.  Their announcement causes everyone who hears about it to say "I never saw that coming."  These marriages die a slow death of resentment, silence and fights about trash or dishes but really about so much more.  Let's be honest, when you fight about something with your spouse, is it really about that one issue?  Isn't it really about something else (not feeling valued, being lonely, not being sure that you're on the same team any more)?  I know it is.  Shhhhhh...you don't even have to say it.

The truth is that my marriage is pretty amazing.  My husband is kind, a great dad, funny and not at all a douchebag.  I'd like to think that other people think that I come across as slightly less bitchy in real life than I do in my head.  We tend to talk things over, are on the same page when it comes to raising our kids, and have lots of fun together. 
However, there was a problem in our household...and it stank.

Stop smiling, you asshole.

We live in a rural development, really more of a small town inside of another small town.  It's picturesque, classic New England, dirt roads, cape cod houses but no trash pick up.  The only way to have your trash removed from your house is via one of two methods: pay someone to do it or take it to the dump your own damn self.  (watch the video-this is one of my fondest childhood memories)

So, being the stingy, contrary New Englanders we are, we found out that it would cost $20 per month to have someone take away our trash!  "NO WAY!" we said.  We were not going to pay someone $20 to haul away our old food containers, dirty diapers, etc.  We would take it to the dump ourselves.
Well, after 3 winters and summers of fighting about who was going to take the trash to the dump...what's that?  You want to see what that fight looks like?

Almost there...Pretty accurate.

Me:  Can you please take the trash to the dump?  The shitbird raccoons are trying to get into the bins every night and I'm pretty sure there's a colony of maggots in the bottom of the bin.
Him:  (sigh) Okay.  Why can't you do it during the week?  I have to work all day and then spend Saturday cleaning out the van and taking the trash to the dump now.
Me: (trying not to punch him in the wind pipe) Well, I'm at home with two kids, I do everything else around here, and I'm just asking you to take the trash to the dump.  Please, please, don't make me go there.  I hate it there.  It smells horrible, there are so many flies, and I just HATE THE DUMP.
Him: (looks defeated, clearly can not argue with my airtight rhetoric)  Okay, I'll do it.  Do you think I like going to the dump? 
Thing 1:  Thing two pooped in the bath tub/spilled something/drew on the wall!
Me and him:  Stop tattling!  Thing Two, why did you poop in the bath tub/spill something/draw on the wall?

and scene...

You're too kind! 

Now, imagine that almost exact same fight happen 30 times a year...or, imagine someone not going for a while and the trash piling up and then imagine the passive aggressive rage I would exhibit when the shitbird raccoons did get into the trash and spread it all around the yard....and guess who got to clean it up because I "just stay home."  You guessed it.  The trash was not just a festering maggot colony, it was festering rage and resentment and fights and loads of bacteria.

How can I hate something so adorable with so much passion?  Once you've woken up to this scene a few times, you'll find yourself screaming swears at them from your living room windows, too.

Finally, I had enough.  He got a better job which freed up a little extra money which meant I could finally justify paying someone else $20 per month to come haul away our 2-4 bags of trash and recyclables per week.  And, you know what?  It is amazing.  I can't explain the joy I get in taking the trash bins out to the curb and watching for Ralph I-don't-know-his-last-name to pull up in his red truck with his reflective stuck-on letters on the side to empty out my trash and recyclables and take it where ever he wants to take it.  It is just not our problem any more.  So how did this save our marriage?  It gave us one less stressful thing between us.  We were able to move on, get rid of this issue and not give it room to make a problem for us in the future. Plus, I really, really hate going to the dump. 

Today's lesson:  If you can get rid of a major stressor, do it.  Don't let the raccoons win, and let Jensen tell you what you already know:

...swoon....

Enter the Octogon...

I'm coming down with a cold and my head hurts so I can't think very well tonight.  I did, however, want to write a post since it's been a while and I really, really, really miss writing.  This post is dedicated to my Dryer.  Yes, I have a dryer that we bought 4 years ago, used, and apparently broken.  An electrician came to fix my $50 dryer (that repair cost me $125 four years ago) and told me, way back then, that my dryer wouldn't last a year and I should buy one from him.  I told him I'd take my chances and here we are, four years later.
Here's the thing about my dryer.  It really doesn't work that well, but works just well enough to get me to keep it around.  It also seems to eat socks.  Not all socks, mind you, but just one out of each pair.  For a while I thought I could outsmart the dryer by putting all of my sad little singleton socks on top of the dryer and waiting for it to spit out the other one at a later date, like a mama bird regurgitating food for it's young.  However, the dryer has held on to those mis-matched socks like Sami Brady holds on to a grudge (sorry-I feel really lousy tonight).  So, in honor of my hungry dryer, I give you this...

The Absolute Best...Most Comforting...Cheesiest Mac and Cheese in the World.

Yes, I have discovered it!  This is the best Mac and Cheese recipe in the world-and it is EASY!  So, I started looking for a Mac and Cheese recipe that I could do in my crock pot, and found this delicious recipe.  But, as I was getting started I thought...hmmm....something is clearly missing.  Can you guess what it was? Yup.  Bacon.
I went to my fridge and pulled out my bag of Wright Brand Bacon (honestly the best bacon in the world) and made this amazing mac and cheese.

Cheesy Bacon-y Mac and Cheese in the Crock Pot
1 Box of Pasta (I used Rotini because I live dangerously)
12 oz can of evaporated milk
1 1/2 cups of milk
2 beaten eggs
4 cups of shredded cheese
BACON!!!!!


Spray down your crock pot with Pam or some similar spray.  Layer your bacon in the bottom of your crock pot (I used 5 pieces). Add a small layer of shredded cheese. Add in 1/2 of the pasta.  Add another small layer of cheese.  Add the rest of the pasta.
In a bowl, beat together your eggs and add the evaporated milk, regular milk, mix together and then pour over the pasta.  Add the rest of the cheese.  Do you see where this is going?  Add a few more strips of bacon over the top of the cheese.  Why the Hell not?  If you want your bacon on the top crispy, I would recommend cooking it first.  I also added some bread crumbs to give it a breaded top.
Cook on High for 2 hrs., then low for another hour or so to make sure the bacon on the bottom is fully cooked.  Make sure you reward yourself for such a good job done with a nice tall glass of boxed wine.

YUM!

 

This recipe is so amazing-my family LOVED it!  The pasta was delicious, the sauce was so amazing and the bacon gave every bite a little bacony goodness.  This is a great meal for a cold day, when you just need your food to go "thud."  Comfort food at it's best.  It's also a great meal for any other day because, you know, bacon.

The Truth about The Elf

Here's the truth about the Elf on the Shelf.  After a few weeks of nightly Elf moving, I have to say, I LOVE this tradition.  My kids love the elf.  I love watching them find her every morning.  Every day, they give me a full report of exactly how they think she got to the spots she's in.  Every day they get to experience a little more magic. We will keep the elf.
However, our elf has not done the following:  made messes, drawn on pictures, or done anything else that my decidedly free spirited and very naughty youngest would see and think "Great idea!"  She has been involved in a 3-way with a dirty Koala and St. Nick, (It was a brief tryst and the children didn't see the debauchery), she has been caught scaling the christmas lights by the pass-through, she's visited many parts of the house but she still creeps me out!  I'm not sure if I'll ever get over this, but one thing is for sure:  the Elf is staying and will be back again next Christmas-maybe with a friend.  What has happened to me? 

I gave in...

I gave in to the Elf On A Shelf phenomenon.  I know, I'm not sure what I was thinking, either!  Perhaps it was because the little bastard was on sale, for over 1/2 off with free shipping. (Oh, that got you, too?  It was at Barnesandnoble.com), or maybe it was because it seems like everyone else has those stupid little elves and my kids are feeing left out because I'm too lazy, or maybe it's just because that thing is just so damn creepy and cute at the same time and that makes me feel weird inside. 
Seriously, look at that thing.  How can something so evil looking make me want to tickle it's little tummy and kiss it's forehead?  What is wrong with me?
So, if you look around the mommy blogs and especially Pinterest you'll see thousands of pictures of these evil looking little troublemakers perched around kitchens and living rooms.  Our elf will not make messes. Our elf will probably be interesting for a few weeks then will be forgotten about until next year when I try, in vain, to create some goddamn holiday memories with my children by trying to convince them that an inanimate object that spies on them all day, comes to life at night, parties in our living room, journeys to the North Pole and back to tell an elderly creeper if they are nice or naughty so that he will break into our house and bring them presents in a couple of weeks...  Good Lord, what have I done? 
(If you don't hear from me before Christmas, it means the children and the Elf have joined forces.   Send help!)

Calm Your Crazy Asses Down, Conservatives!

So, the election is over and Barack Obama won. That is the truth. Please relax.  I've been there!  Did you know that I cried on election night the first time the George W. Bush won?  I did!  I proclaimed the end of the world that night.  I was wrong.  I think is a shittier world because he was president, but it did not end.

So, as I have been through the 5 stages of election grief myself, I wanted to offer you some compassion but I can't because you are driving me FUCKING CRAZY.  You are out of control with your ranting and raving.  You are posting shit all over Facebook that is making you look like a lunatic (actually, keep that up, it makes me laugh)

Here's the thing.  We (I am lumping in all of the people who didn't vote for Bush either time) didn't like your guy.  We thought he was a bad guy.  We may have said some mean things about him and some of us got a little crazy, but it seems like you (this is all of you) are taking things a little too far.  Here are the facts:
He is not a socialist.  He is a moderate.  A MODERATE!  What is your problem with moderation?  The definition of the word moderate is: 

mod·er·ate

[mod-er-it, mod-rit; mod-uh-reyt] Show IPA adjective, noun, verb, mod·er·at·ed, mod·er·at·ing.

adjective

1.

kept or keeping within reasonable or proper limits; not extreme, excessive, or intense: a moderate price.

2.

of medium quantity, extent, or amount: a moderate income.

3.

mediocre or fair: moderate talent.

4.

calm or mild, as of the weather.

5.

of or pertaining to moderates, as in politics or religion.

These are reasons why you should tone your crazy ass down:
He has expanded on the Patriot Act, he didn't close Gitmo.  He has been a friend to the banks, has basically brought RomneyCare (He was your nominee, remember?) to the national stage (Compare the two here.  Those are things that make me sad, mad and generally not happy.  However, he has out Bush'd Bush!  That should make you very, very happy!

Here are the reasons why we like him:
He has finally spoken out and is willing to fight for some of the things that effect all of us (a woman's right to choose, the right to health insurance for all, equal pay, equal rights, and more!  Those all seem like very reasonable things to me, but, then again, I am a crazy crazy liberal.

So I'll end with a prediction of what the next four years are going to be like.  Just like the last 12, but hopefully with a little more social justice.  You will deal with it.  We dealt with Bush.  Just relax.

Five Stages of Election Grief

Yeah, I'm behind by a few weeks, but I think it's time that everyone sits down, has a glass of wine and becomes friends again.  It's time to let the healing begin.  Let me guide you through the Five Stages of Election Grief.

Sorry, can't help it.  I'm kind of a jerk.

Stage 1:  Disbelief.  You know that the liberal/conservative/media in general called the election too early.  The results aren't valid!  Tomorrow you'll wake up to news stories saying that everything was wrong last night and everything will be fine.

Stage 2:  Horrible, horrible, heartwrenching sadness.  Everything you ever wanted is gone now.  Life is over.  Your future is a horrible, dark, nightmarish hellscape of socialism and gayness everywhere.  Just everywhere. 

Stage 3:  Acceptance/pity for the poor bastards, those poor stupid bastards who voted for the wrong guy even though it was against their best interests.  Don't worry, we thought the same thing about you in 2000 and 2004.  We even thought it about you this time.  I know, we'll agree to disagree.

Stage 4:  Furious VENGEANCE and ANGER!  You just want to FIGHT all of the stupid bastards that you just took 30 seconds to feel sorry for.  You hate them.  You hate their guts.  You want to post all over Facebook about how stupid they are with smug things to make them feel bad.  Spoiler alert-these things make you look crazy but they sure are entertaining to everyone else. 

Stage 5:  I don't know...I never made it past Stage 3 but from the news I guess its secession?  I don't know.  I think Stage Five should just be Get the Fuck Over It.  

We good? Let's move on.