Me Idiot

So my hubby and I are officially a couple of COMPLETE idiots.

Allow me to explain.

I made a whole mess of delicious chicken last night, honey-lime chicken to be exact. I made enough so that we would have something to eat for the next few days without having to cook. It is my way of being lazy yet cleverly resourceful at the same time.

So with no explanation apparent to me, at approximately 8:43 last night I completely petered out and had no choice but to go to sleep immediately. You have to understand, this phenomenon is HIGHLY unusual. On any other given night, I'm lying there in vain trying to push random irritating thoughts out of my head so that I can trick my brain into being quiet long enough to fall asleep accidentally. Which usually backfires, because at the precise moment I manage to get things settled down, my hubby's epiglotis begins clanging like a bell, thus causing him to snore loudly and startling me into full-alert mode once again. At this point, I am forced to distribute two swift jabs to his ribcage with my elbow and start all over, and so on. So, you can imagine how enthralled I was to tucker out early on last night.

The only problem with that scenario is that I totally forgot about the chicken. I had left the whole mess of it out on the counter to cool before I put it in tupperware and stowed it away in the fridge. I realized this small oversight approximately 3 seconds after I woke up this morning, refreshed from my lengthy slumber. It went pretty much like this: (alarm clock goes off.) "Ahhh. Boy, that was nice. I feel great. What's on the agenda for today? God damn it---the chicken."

A little voice appeared in my head at that point and said, "Perhaps your attentive husband noticed the chicken and put it away, so you will be able to have a delicious luncheon feast today after all."

And then another little voice appeared and said, "Get real. If you're talking about the same husband I am, then you know better. Plus, it's not his fault. You're going to have to take the blame for this one, genius. Especially when hubby figures out that now there's nothing to eat for lunch. He's going to be SUPER happy about THAT. Way to go."

So I put off actually having to FIND OUT what happened to the chicken, and I chose to get ready for work instead. (Denial is a wonderful thing.)

When finished, I headed downstairs and found, to my surprise, a large tupperware container sitting on the kitchen counter. And carefully arranged inside it---oh, yes---the leftover chicken.

In other words, my ingenius hubby had actually NOTICED the chicken sitting out on the counter, for which he gets snaps, and he managed to get it all stowed away nicely in the tupperware container. Unfortunately, the last (and consequently most important) step eluded him, which would be REFRIGERATION. You know, to avoid SEVERE SALMONELLA POISONING.

So, I have come to the conclusion that between the two of us, we don't have a leg to stand on. I forgot about the matter completely, and he discovered my oversight but did not manage to sufficiently bring the matter to the point of completion. So in the end, nobody got to enjoy the delicious leftover chicken. It all just went to waste. And consequently, I'm a little concerned about the two of us bearing children.

That said, I would like to reiterate how proud I am of him noticing that the chicken was sitting out at all. That in itself is quite an accomplishment in my book. He has a long and sordid history of walking away from the stove while lit and leaving the garage door open all night when asleep or not at home, making us prone to thievery and other unspeakables. So, discovering the spoils of my temporary lapse in short-term memory is really saying something.

However, this beef jerky just isn't doing it for me today.....

Resident Shit-kicker

So I've been relegated to my room by my wonderful husband, who has commandeered the television downstairs. For approximately 5 months. Monday night football, football on Saturdays, Sunday football, professional football, college football, playoffs football, football football football. Football. And now all "his shows" are back on the air or will be soon, which means I will see him again in about six months, but not really, because then it will be baseball season again. Sigh. It's lonely up here, just me and my computer.

I'm sad to report that the only thing on tonight is "The Bachelorette," which I vowed I would not watch ever again. I have watched all the rest of The Bachelors and Bachelorettes toy with other people's emotions and make out shamelessly with everything in sight. They get worse every time, and it's all just a glamorized sham and I just can't take it anymore. Nobody stays together, everybody's just hoping to see a little boob or get a little action, and play their silly little games. But not me. I've been duped enough times, and I've learned my lesson, and I'm through.

Which is why I'm sitting here, not reading or painting or solving complex equations, but parked in front of the idiot box once again, with 25 idiots all wooing the same chick, who's already been around the block once before with ill results. If I knew anything about statistics, I would calculate for you the exact odds of one of these 25 blokes being chosen for the grim position of escorting The Bachelorette around the TV talk show circuit for the next 6 months, pretending to be all cuddly and "wooing her," until the camera shuts off and they have some pointless little spat and call it quits. And I'm sure Oprah will have them on, because it's "Chicago Jenn" this time and Oprah just HAS to have a piece of anything Chicago.

So the first few bachelors walk up the aisle like lambs to the slaughter---the typical lot---a firefighter, five people named Ryan, and such---and then, sure as shit, the resident cowboy shitkicker. There is one in every batch. He grew up with horses and probably smells like them too and has the over-the-top twang and everything. Must they always present The Bachelorette with a country-boy hick? Does she routinely request cowboy types to flush out her man-harem? I just don't get it. I want somebody I can take around to parties and nice restaurants and not have to worry about him asking for directions to "the shitter" or walking around with a wad of chaw poking out of his bottom lip. Somebody please explain this phenomenon to me. Especially since the weird cowboy dude is always one of the first to go. I mean, really.

This time, they have cleverly disguised The Bachelorette's two best blonde friends as "waitresses" at the "meet 'n greet" party to "get the scoop" on the bachelors, ie, dig up all the dirt they can get on them prior to the first cut, presumably by flashing them some boob and watching their reaction, since there's supposed to be hopelessly in love with The Bachelorette at this point, since they've known her for approximately 15 minutes. None of the bachelors seem to be picking up on the fact that the two blonde waitresses are schmoozing with the guests an awful lot to just be waitresses. Hmm. Smart fellows. AND handy on a dude ranch.

My favorite thing is that this one is being filmed in New York City, so they bring the hillbilly to the Big Apple and watch the fireworks fly. I guess they want to test the "chemistry" with the cultured well-mannered city gal.

Quality television at its finest.....