My laziness reigns supreme. It was a "scrounge for leftovers" kind of night. Good thing sweet corn bread pudding reheats so well. (Second best reason to own a cast-iron skillet.) That and some Morningstar Farms meatless corn dogs... it's dinner! Christina won't touch the meatless stuff. I think she had some leftover pasta and the last of the macaroni and cheese from the other night.
That reminds me, I've still got a bunch of that cheese sauce left. Maybe I should take it with me to Hilton Head this weekend and feed it to the relatives. "Geoffrey and Jen, we got you a great wedding present... a tub of cheese sauce! Mmmmmm!"
We keep saying that we're going to get rid of the big green bean bag chair in our living room. It's torn and patched with duct tape, but a few things keep delaying us.
A. Our tabby cat Suzie loves it. When Otis goes to the vet for a few days, she never complains. But if this bean bag were to disappear, I have a feeling she'd wander the apartment, howling.
B. It's comfy.
C. It would be one hell of a thing to stuff into a dumpster.
I have a problem with trashing inanimate objects of any sort. If it is of more value than an expired catalog, I want to save this precious thing because you never know when you'll want that very thing. It's a disease, I know. I think of my parents' basement, with its miles of assorted odds and ends, my mother's outgrown sewing projects and my father's monstrous wooden bookcases, and I think to myself: where did I get these packrat genes?
Not that my wife is much better. We have stacks of board games in our living room that we play a few times a year. Christina loves board games, and I'm sure would play them a few nights a week if there were anyone to play with. I can only take a few rounds of "Sorry" before my eyes glaze, I think the rules of "Scrabble" are dumb, and I will never, ever play "Monopoly" again. Well, not for a long time at any rate. We have Star Wars Monopoly and I'm such a lousy player that I end up in horrible debt, defending the lonely ice-encrusted snowball planet Hoth from voracious seekers of real estate. I don't like to talk about it.
Where was I? Right, packrat-itis. I'm trying my best to get rid of things I truly don't need while getting something back for them. I have hordes of old VHS videos that have long since been replaced by DVDs. They're slowly going up on half.com to seek buyers of less discriminating taste. Even if I get a buck or so for each of them, I can say that someone else paid me to get it out of our house.
I always laugh internally when I see the before and after pictures on Trading Spaces, because I just know that all the crap the homeowners were hoarding in that room previously is now piled in the garage. Sure, your den looks nice now, but just wait till you open the hallway closet.
Tonight I discovered that my oven heats about 50º hotter than it's set. At least, when it was set to 350º F, the oven thermometer I had hanging in there read 400º F. That explains why things always seem to be done a few minutes early....
That reminds me, I've still got a bunch of that cheese sauce left. Maybe I should take it with me to Hilton Head this weekend and feed it to the relatives. "Geoffrey and Jen, we got you a great wedding present... a tub of cheese sauce! Mmmmmm!"
We keep saying that we're going to get rid of the big green bean bag chair in our living room. It's torn and patched with duct tape, but a few things keep delaying us.
A. Our tabby cat Suzie loves it. When Otis goes to the vet for a few days, she never complains. But if this bean bag were to disappear, I have a feeling she'd wander the apartment, howling.
B. It's comfy.
C. It would be one hell of a thing to stuff into a dumpster.
I have a problem with trashing inanimate objects of any sort. If it is of more value than an expired catalog, I want to save this precious thing because you never know when you'll want that very thing. It's a disease, I know. I think of my parents' basement, with its miles of assorted odds and ends, my mother's outgrown sewing projects and my father's monstrous wooden bookcases, and I think to myself: where did I get these packrat genes?
Not that my wife is much better. We have stacks of board games in our living room that we play a few times a year. Christina loves board games, and I'm sure would play them a few nights a week if there were anyone to play with. I can only take a few rounds of "Sorry" before my eyes glaze, I think the rules of "Scrabble" are dumb, and I will never, ever play "Monopoly" again. Well, not for a long time at any rate. We have Star Wars Monopoly and I'm such a lousy player that I end up in horrible debt, defending the lonely ice-encrusted snowball planet Hoth from voracious seekers of real estate. I don't like to talk about it.
Where was I? Right, packrat-itis. I'm trying my best to get rid of things I truly don't need while getting something back for them. I have hordes of old VHS videos that have long since been replaced by DVDs. They're slowly going up on half.com to seek buyers of less discriminating taste. Even if I get a buck or so for each of them, I can say that someone else paid me to get it out of our house.
I always laugh internally when I see the before and after pictures on Trading Spaces, because I just know that all the crap the homeowners were hoarding in that room previously is now piled in the garage. Sure, your den looks nice now, but just wait till you open the hallway closet.
Tonight I discovered that my oven heats about 50º hotter than it's set. At least, when it was set to 350º F, the oven thermometer I had hanging in there read 400º F. That explains why things always seem to be done a few minutes early....
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