That 18″ of snow predicted to make our lives a living hell because the state is out of road salt and also out of patch for the condominium-sized potholes ended up being about 18/100ths of an inch.  I wish someone would pay ME six figures to be wrong and smile about it.  Does that sound bitter?  I don’t mean it to be.  I genuinely wonder how some people get their jobs and how we all tend to agree that they’re paid about right.  Baseball and football stars totally deserve gazillions to PLAY A GAME while nurses, teachers, and social workers often need a second job just to pay the electric bill.  Yeah, that sounds about right.  (You’re getting the sarcasm while I’m drinking the tea.  I wish I could have you drink this delicious tea but the internet still doesn’t work like that.  Now, THAT’S a job that’s worth gazillions: doing that Willy-Wonka-transmitting-candy-bars-over-the-airwaves-of-the-internet thing.)




I made bread on Saturday.  It was a recipe for Molasses Oat Bread and it sounded awesome and somewhat healthy, so I went for it.  When the mixture started climbing over the dough hook and INTO the workings of the mixer, I knew this was going to be some bad boy bread.  I had to finish mixing in the flour by hand which was quite the workout.  Then I had two big and one small loaf, and they came out of the oven looking like a tsunami.  I’ve never seen bread arch like that before.  It’s very delicious but very dense.  I’ve wrapped a big and the small loaf and put them in the freezer so now I basically have weapons.  Go, me.




I’m knitting a sweater called Swirl.  It is really really heavy, and it’s more like a king-sized comforter than a potential sweater and I guess it ranks right up there with the bread as stuff I just can’t be normal with.  No, I have to obviously go for the big guns on everything and make a statement.  I think the statement is something vaguely related to my childhood, but I’m not really sure.




Oscar-Dress-Hating-Ceremony was on last night, so popcorn was had and Twitter was followed and I did NOT retweet Ellen’s photo.  Not that I have anything against the lovely and talented Ellen DG, but I was in the middle of following a different sort of Twitter drama and while I got the pictures on my feed I was distracted and then the next thing I know Twitter was broken.  That’s mighty powerful mojo right there.  Why can’t the weather forecasters harness that mojo so they don’t scare the crap out of parents whose kids are going to have to go to school until August the way this year is going?




As he was leaving for work this morning, Hubby offered me money because I had none and asked where he should leave it.  Sleepy me who hadn’t even cranked open an eyelid yet replied “On the dresser so I know you think I’ve been a good prostitute.”  I didn’t even get a reaction.  Honestly, he was awake and had already had caffeine, and I was still half-stuck in my dreamworld (which was about school again, dammit) so you think he would have been quicker on the uptake.  Nope.  Older Daughter commented, “So you’re disappointed that your husband didn’t acknowledge your prostitute joke,” then shook her head and probably thought “my mother is for sure going over the deep end.”  (She doesn’t know yet that I can read minds.)








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