Rambling Prose

You know how when you spill something disgusting, like a half gallon of well-past-its-expiration-date milk, and you sop it all up with a gigantic wad of paper towels, and then the paper towels are this big, soggy gob of drippy grossness that weighs about 37 pounds? That's how my brain feels these days.

Conversations resulting from brain-dead-ness:

(Watching commercial in which wife sticks Cheetos up husband's nose to stop his snoring)
Me: Wow. What a great idea. Do we have any Cheetos?
Tom: Hey, it's Lobsterfest.
Me: (Refusing to be distracted by untrue mention of my favorite of all the Fests) No, it's not. We missed it. It will be months and months before it comes back. (Sigh)
Tom: But now you're not thinking about Cheetos, right?
Me: No, but now I kinda want to stuff lobsters up your nose.
(Not sure if that would work as well as Cheetos. He might suffocate if his airway gets all clogged up with claws. But at least I'm trying! He should be encouraging me to find cures for the snoring problem that don't involve suffocating him with a Memory Foam pillow. At least lobsters would be interesting on the police report.)

(Getting ready to watch NASCAR race which might or might not ever take place, given the current view on the weather radar. I say put pontoons on those race cars and let's get the hell on with it. However, my problem at the moment stems from the fact that I think it's strange - and annoying - that I have to be subjected to a Christian invocation before each and every NASCAR race.)
Me: I have issues.
Tom: I know.
Me: No, I mean I have a specific issue right now.
Tom: Oh.
(Because apparently, those are two distinct situations.)

Then there was a conversation I had with a friend, in which she was saying that she had to move out of Minnesota because even though Minnesotans always tell outsiders that it's really nothing at all like the movie Fargo here, it totally is exactly like that. I'm planning to beat feet out of Minnesota within the year, headed for Ohio (most likely) and she wants to go to Virginia. I told her she should make sure it's really not at all like Deliverance, because they'll probably say it's nothing like that, but it might be like the big, fat, Minnesota/Fargo lie. I don't know if Deliverance is even supposed to have anything to do with Virginia, but she's looking at a pretty rural area, and I've seen close-enough-to-Deliverance type people even in northern West Virginia, so I think it's important to be very sure about such things before actually moving.

See? This is why I haven't been blogging. Lack of coherent thought process, and a tendency to get lost in run-on sentences. I've had a lot on my mind.

Remember that windfall I've been anticipating? Hopefully by Labor Day? Well, good news/bad news. It seems we'll get a portion of that, about 1/4, within the next month. Then... who knows. Maybe 6-12 months for the next chunk. And while it will be great to have some money soon and pay off the evil, blood-sucking (and not in a good way) Chase card, as well as a few other things, and be able to start some of the repairs/upgrades to the house so we presumably can sell it when the rest of the money shows up... it seems that this whole new bit of information will result in our not actually moving for as long as a year. Which could mean another winter in oh-my-fucking-god-I-hate-Minnesota. Which... is not good.

Plus, there are a bunch of other things that are driving me nuts but are way too trivial and boring for blog-fodder. Also, I can't stop baking. Yesterday, I made lemon-blueberry bread (with sugar/lemon glaze, but without the nuts, which I do not believe have any place in baked goods). Turned out I didn't have any sort of handy-dandy utensil to grate lemon rind, having only recently discovered that there is a whole aisle of "kitchenware" at SuperTarget, none of which I have needed even once in the last 26 years. I bitched so much about having to haul out the entire giant food processor that I've had for 10 years and have used twice, and then figure out how to use the stupid thing, just to grate two tablespoons of lemon rind, that Tom came home from the store today and presented me with a grater. Which I guess means he liked the lemon-blueberry bread and would like me to make it again, but with less bitching.

That's about it. Over and out. I must go now and try to remember how to use punctuation, and also figure out where to put my new grater.