Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Party Poopyhead

Here's the deal: Hubby has invited a yet to be determined number of people to our house Saturday for a housewarming party. I don't remember talking about it, maybe we did, but I honestly don't remember the conversation. I do remember begging off having the party over Labor Day weekend, simply because there is so much left to do and I just didn't feel like we were quite ready to play host and hostess to a couple dozen or so folks. I remember mentioning "Hey, why don't we just have a bonfire party closer to Halloween? That would give us some time to get some more stuff cleaned up. And it would be fun! We could have a fire! A big fire! "

I've been running around like a headless chicken for the past five days trying to get stuff done and I'm not even close to getting all accomplished that I want to get accomplished. Shit, I don't even have an oven yet! That's right, no oven. That means whatever we serve is going to have to be cooked on the grill or bought already prepared. My family has been living on whatever I can cook in the microwave or the crock pot since we moved in, and frankly, I'm rather sick and tired of it. Now I have to try to throw a party and serve food without an oven. Anyone jealous yet?

Anyway, I'm feeling very party pooperish about this whole thing. I don't really want to have people over yet, not really. I'm feeling quite hermit-ish about the whole having company thing. I'm trying really, really hard not to be irritated at him about it, because maybe we did have the conversation and I just don't remember it. Crazier things have been known to happen, I have been *Gasp!* known to forget things from time to time, believe it or not. I'll make it happen, stove or no stove, and dammit, I'll have fun.

Or at least, drink enough vanilla vodka and root beer until I'm forced to have fun.


There is a thunderstorm rolling in. One of the most fantastic things about this place is where it's located. I can sit on the deck and watch the big, dark storm clouds blow in over the back woods, sometimes, when it hits just right, you can hear the rain hit the trees before it hits the house. Very, very cool. I absolutely love big, loud, boisterous storms. They make me feel alive and electric. There is almost nothing more sensuous than making love with the windows flung wide open during a monstrous storm, deafening thunderclaps, blinding lightning, pelting rain and of course a wind that whips your hair into unruly masses of clinging curls.


Kids are funny. Today Unruly lost her ultra-cool Superman lunch box at school. Don't ask because I don't know. It's just gone, but I'll bet a dollar it shows up tomorrow. Anyway, she called and left a voicemail for me at work, so worried that I would be angry with her for losing her lunchbox "and the spoon too, mom, I'm so sorry." The kid is apologizing like mad for losing the $4 lunchbox (and, for the record, I've never gotten angry at her for losing something. She's a kid, it happens), yet she sees absolutely nothing wrong with acting like a demon spawn in class. I imagine she expects me to say "That's okay honey, go ahead and growl at your teacher like a rabid dog. Don't forget to spew some of that pea soup and spin your head around a bit, that's always good for a laugh or two. How dare that teacher expect YOU to follow the rules and act like a civilized human being!" when she has a particularly bad day at school. She is certainly not a rule follower and definitely does not like to be told to shut her trap and listen up.

I counted four new gray hairs this morning, and I'm placing the blame directly on the shoulders of that little imp.

I even bought her a new lunch box sans spoon. She'll be thrilled.

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