Tuesday, July 23, 2013

oh bwunhiwda, you'we so wovewy

My keyboard smells and feels a little bit like someone had chocolate on their hands.  I know what you're thinking, but it wasn't me--the kids always use my computer to watch movies when John and I are gone.  They did it.  They repaid my trust with treachery.

Somebody is finally cutting down the dead birch tree in Vilda's yard across the street.  They've been trying to sell the house for probably two years now, since not long after she passed away, and I'm sure the giant dead tree was not sweetening the deal for anybody. It's a fun old house with two and a half acres with it--it goes all the way up to the cemetery in the back yard.  Do any of you cool kids want to buy it?  In a world where I had more money, a lot more money, than I have now, I would buy it and turn it into a bed and breakfast/guest house for my family and friends.  New shingles, new shutters, new windows, kibosh the juniper bushes and put in perennials, kitchen garden in the back, nice linens in all the rooms, and then people would come and stay in it, then I would forget to give them their room key, then the cats would sneak into their rooms and poop on their stuff, then I would forget to feed them breakfast, and if I did remember to feed them I would be all, "I'm too tired to cook this morning.  You serve yourselves.  There's yogurt in the fridge and bananas on the counter," then I would be poor and people would say rude, true things about how crappy my bed and breakfast is, the end.  I have lots of great ideas about having a restaurant/bed and breakfast/greenhouse/goat dairy/nail art salon, but I am so bad at running things.  I'm a terrible employee and a terrible boss.  Truly, I am almost totally useless.  What does the future hold for someone like me?  Public shaming.  Financial dissolution.  Homelessness.  Incurable disease.

Oh, I just remembered, it was me who got chocolate on the keyboard.  Sorry for the mean things I said, kids.  I was trying to figure out how to make frozen hot chocolate without hot chocolate mix, and I made a big mess, and I've decided that there are some times when it might be handy to have at least a little bit of milk chocolate in the house.  But in the end the frozen hot chocolate turned out great, which is all that matters.

Our dishwasher is broken again.  I hate Amana.  I want Wile E. Coyote to practice one of his terrible Road Runner schemes on the Amana factory.  That's what they need, a total corporate restructuring that goes BOOM MEEP MEEP.