So, big news: I got a garlic press. I’ve been smashing garlic and shoving it into animal carcasses for like two weeks now. It took me a decent amount of time to find it, too. None at the grocery store. None at Target. None at Christmas Tree Shop. I finally found it at World Market and by my reaction you would have thought I scored a sweet hit of coke. But no, just a 33 year old housewife finding kitchen gadgets. And by the way, I had to drive about an hour north to go to World Market. One day I just decided I needed to get out of the house so I went up to the Big City and went to Super Target; got lunch at Panera with a free pastry for my birthday WHAT WHAT; found my garlic press and some European candies at World Market; then went to a not-scary liquor store for Talisker. I wore my new blazer and had my little tote bag and made it look like I might be a business lady running errands on her lunch. It was great. People at Panera looked at me like “hmm, what kind of transactions is this lady completing today?” GARLIC PRESSES AND SCOTCH, BITCHES!
Have you heard of Talisker? It is a single-malt Scotch whisky and it tastes like a fucking campfire. I love it.
We were in Cleveland for the Tragically Hip Fully Completely Tour and went to a total hipster bar after the show. I asked the helpful barkeep for a scotch that “is super peat-y” and he gave me Talisker. And it was the best. And my mom paid for the round and it was like $30 for my campfire, a beer for my brother, and her pineapple and vodka (I’m not kidding) and I immediately felt bad but how often are you in Cleveland for your 33rd birthday HOLLA! Also, did you know that bars are far funnier when you are not looking to get laid? But then it gets a little weird when you realize your mom might want to and you are sitting in the middle and you WANT to be a cool wingman but halfway through you’re like KEEP YOUR OLD LIVER-SPOTTED HANDS OFF MY MOTHER!! (No one groped my mom in real life.)
I can’t stop using CAPS LOCK in written communication. I yell a lot in real life. The other day the Major and I were “discussing” something and I reminded him that I am bossy as hell and he said “yeah, and a little mean. That’s why I love you” and now I question every single one of his motives. I realized the other day that we don’t fight about money or real things. We fight about the dishwasher and food. Food is the easy one: he eats garbage. Want to know what he made for breakfast today? A frozen pizza. He also told me the other day that he didn’t even buy vegetables before we started dating. I don’t know if this new nutrition is even helping him but it sure ruins his love of meals.
The dishwasher/dishes: the asinine straw that breaks the housewife’s back. We have a split sink. The right side has the garbage disposal. You can put dishes that don’t go in the dishwasher on the left side so someone/ME can rinse and wash dishes on the right side. Totally reasonable. (Aside: I have tried three times to email myself pictures from my phone to include in this post and they refuse to appear in my inbox in two different email accounts. I love my inability to use technology.) Major will rarely put his dirty dishes in the dishwasher. When he does they are clean and then I have to dig them out. “Oh, A for effort, K8!” NO. Or he will put them on the sink and say “I thought the machine was dirty.” YEP, I ALWAYS leave four CLEAN dishes in the machine randomly by themselves. TOTES. (But seriously, this is the worst thing he does and I WILL break him but I’m glad he doesn’t spend rent on the ponies or hookers or at least he’s VERY good at hiding it from me and you gotta respect operative-level deception.) This particular day, he put a salad plate in THE MIDDLE of the bottom rack. Look at this shit:
A dish can’t ROLL into place like this. NO. See how it is angled? Yeah, it was placed that way. Passive aggressive dish placement FTW, Major. He’ll pay.
Did you know it is Valentine’s Day in 23 minutes? No one gives a shit. Seriously. The day only exists to set awful expectations that no man or woman will live up to and everyone is sad and sleeps ass to ass for the night and you have to put up with pictures of Michael Kors watches on social media and all you want to do is nap until it passes. I am disappointed that evolution has not come up with a better solution to things like human hibernation to pass time to avoid awkward instances. I am the most introverted of introverts though and you would only see me like three months total all year. I think I would have made a great turtle or a snail because I could just come out and throw an asshole comment out like a grenade then go into my house for a few weeks. That’s my dream. I realize this might make me sound like a “cool girl” but I am not trying to put on any kind of airs. I’m married. No more effort is needed for eternity. Major keeps saying that he feels bad that he didn’t get me anything and I keep telling him I don’t want anything. I got a sweet Kate Spade purse last year from deployment guilt. I didn’t ASK for it but I sure as shit wasn’t going to give it back either, nawwhatImean? I get the impression that he feels like I am going to fucking snap tomorrow when he comes up empty handed. No. I won’t. We will probably go out to lunch somewhere (dinner will be a nightmare everywhere) and then watch a movie from our totally legally-obtained hard drive of current movies. He might do some more homework. It’s fine. Real life isn’t a fucking Folgers commercial. In real life, Netflix buffers 80,000 times and ruins the flow of a movie. Real life has dirty dishes that set you off into Defcon 5. Real life has grad school homework and wine-drunk blogging on Friday night. It happens. It’s fine. You don’t need a shitty box of chocolates to make you feel better. Drink the whole bottle of wine and fall asleep on the couch like a big girl. You’ll be fine.
Here is a sweet photo of Major and me that an usher took at the hockey game for us. I think she has a real future as a photog.