It’s me. The end.

Whose idea was it to make weekends last only two days long?  I swear.   Cuz I will find him and give him a good karate chop to the throat.

Back at work, and some old man just left my desk after blowing his nose into a hanky and then stuffing it right back into his pocket.  Ummm.  Yeah.  Excuse me while I go throw up a little.

Bfwoat.

But the weekend … now that was brilliant.  Brad and I dropped off his car for an oil change, and … uh … “coincidentally” … there was a Bed Bath and Beyond nearby.  Strange how these things just pan out for me.  As if Jesus was simply saying, YES.  And by YES, he clearly means “go buy stuff.”

Anyhoo.

(Shut up, Brain.)

Items purchased at the Bed Bath and Beyond while waiting for the oil change:

1)  Grill cleaner.  Cuz I burnt the holy heck out of my brand-new grill pan.  Cuz I stupidly thought “non-stick” meant something along the lines of … oh … I don’t know.  Perhaps non-stick?

2)  Broiler pan.  Now I can make pretty salmons!  Or just salmons that aren’t burned all to shiznit.  Which is what I usually do.

3)  Set of 4 plastic cutting boards, color coded to prevent cross-contamination.  And I swear, in all my life, I never thought I’d get so excited about something as boring as plastic cutting boards.  But I did.  I may have even peed my pants a little.

4)  Measuring spoon.  One single spoon that measures out all the sizes.  It is like the stretchy pants of the measuring spoons, which = about the best dang thing ever invented.  I mean, who doesn’t love a one size fits all?

Later in the evening, Brad and I had a nice dinner at Red Lobster, where I had the blackened tilapia and about dadgum burned my lips off.  However, nothing that a very large pina colada couldn’t cure.

Then to Wal-Mart, where I bought balls.  Decorative balls for the mantle, that is.  Regardless, it was still funny to walk around a public place saying I need balls.  But then Brad needed a box of brownies.  The ones with nuts on top.  Which makes this story even more funny.  Cuz basically, balls, nuts.  We were having a theme night.

I swear.  If I didn’t have boobies and forehead wrinkles, I could very well be a 12-year-old boy.

Anyway.

Last stop for the evening was the casino.  We named a budget, then set to business at the blackjack table.  I got lucky enough to sit beside the cranky bastard who blew cigarette smoke in my face all night.  So in retaliation, I took a card that busted me, but would have made him a 21.  Hahahahahahaha!  Though, good thing he was drunk and could only manage enough energy to stare at me for like 3 hours.  Cuz otherwise, I’m sure he would have sicced some mafia goons on me or something.

Towards the end of the evening, Brad and I were sitting at Three Card Poker, and both of us hit a Flush at the same time.  Which is apparently a big deal considering the amount of chips laid before us.  And then the dealer got my chips too close to Brad’s chips, and I be like, uh-uh.  Don’t you be mixing chips, Mister!  Then I gave Brad the stink eye.

In the end, we didn’t make any money, but we didn’t lose any either.  Which is basically a win, although not quite as fun.  I suppose that was Jesus’s way of telling me to stop buying stuff.  Or rather … Jesus says NO.

Poo.

So work it is then.  Dealing with customers the way I do best … ignoring them by blogging and covert-Myspacing.  Perhaps I will throw in a smidge of travel agent to keep up appearances.  You know, to keep the Net Nanny at bay.

Lunch now.  Have yourself a good day.

Couple of things … both very very exciting.

First, my brother and Hannah are having another baby come November!  This is probably the best news I’ve had in quite awhile.  I’m tweaking my auntie skills as we speak:  baby cry — find nana; baby puke — find nana; baby poopie — run like lightning to nana.

Yep.  Skills still intact.  Like riding a bike, my friends.

Second news, and perhaps just as exciting as the first:

Mama got new boobies.

And that can only bode not so well for me.  Not only am I the fatter one, now I’m the droopier one as well.

Poo.  That mama.

The only thing I have left is being the younger one.  You better damn well know I’m going to milk that for all it’s worth.

However, I must say, my inheritance looks quite lovely sitting right up under her chin like that.

Last night, I made dinner.  Which wasn’t all that different from any other night.  But I made something that was very easy, everyone ate it, and no one gagged.

Score.

It was Artichoke Bread, which by it’s very name implies something not so tasty and perhaps even vom-inducing.  I mean, you did hear the “artichoke” part, right?  But it turned out lovely.  It goes like this:

Ingredients:

• 1 unsliced loaf of French bread
• 1 can (14 ounces) water-packed artichoke hearts, drained and chopped
• 1/2 cup seasoned bread crumbs
• 1/3 cup grated Parmesan cheese
• 1/3 cup mayo
• 2 garlic cloves, minced
• shredded part-skim mozzarella cheese

Directions:

With bread knife, slice the French loaf lengthwise to make two halves.  Place on an ungreased baking sheet.

In a small bowl, combine the artichokes, bread crumbs, Parmesan cheese, mayo and garlic; spread evenly over cut sides of bread.  Sprinkle with mozzarella cheese.

Bake at 350° for 15-20 minutes or until cheese is melted. Slice and serve warm.

And when it comes out of the oven, it looks like this:

‘Cept mine had like 9475050384% more cheese on top.  Cuz cheese makes everything taste fancy.  Even artichokes.  And prolly brussel sprouts, but let’s just pretend we know for sure about that one.  Even a chef such as I must draw a line.

I also made some cumin chicken, which was truly one of my very best culinary feats.  Not that it was exceptionally delicious or anything.  But anytime the meat thermometer reads 170-degrees on the very first try, it always brings about a sigh of happiness.  And trust me, if ya’ll knew how scared I am of meat, you’d understand exactly what I’m saying.

Dinner is ready, and we take it all outside for a little picnic on the deck.  Which is a nice capper to the evening, I must say.  Except for the flying bugs and fear of bird poopie, that is.

Looking forward to tomorrow’s meal.  We are hosting Wednesday Family Night, and mom and Randy are coming over for pork loin — I mean, Honey Spice-Rubbed Pork Tenderloin — and leftover artichoke bread.  I will let ya’ll know how it turns out, as this will be my first foray into the pork loin.

Which isn’t nearly as dirty as it sounds.

Sunday.  Brad has an idea.

Let me just say, we like to humor Brad.  That is why we find ourselves out in the middle of the effing woods on a mother lovin’ nature hike.  I’m pretty sure Sunday is supposed to be a day of rest.  How Brad put the kibosh on that, I’ll never know.

It started out okay.  We drove out to Praire State Park about a half hour away.  Checked out some buffalo.  Kids thought that was pretty cool, and let’s face it, buffalo are funny.  So it was good times all around.

Then come the woods.  And I’m not lying when I say I’m not opposed to a nice leisurely walk amongst the nature.  I can appreciate green trees, babbling brooks, chirping birds and butterflies.  Plus, I gots me a walking stick, which makes the charade of Dianna-as-hiker all the more believeable.

So here we are walking, walking.  And I am trying my very hardest not to turn this outing into exercise, which ya’ll know I just don’t take kindly to.  The kids have run off ahead of us where we can’t even see them, which bodes well for the making out.

Then suddenly, the kids come running, screaming back to us (well, that was more Autumn than anybody).  Turns out, children get into all sorts of mischief while their parents are off secretly making out in the woods.  They jump in bushes.  With ticks.  Lots and lots of ticks.

Who knew?

So back to exercising.  Our legs, that is.  After spending an obscene amount of time flicking ticks off jeans and hoodies, it’s time to set to the trail for reals.  The boys pointed out every dadgum animal track known to man.  Sort of like that scene in European Vacation where Chevy Chase is stuck on the round-about and kept saying “Big Ben, Parliament” every time they passed it.  Except it was “tracks!” and then two steps further, “tracks!” and then again a few more paces down the trail, “tracks!”  How them boys just don’t get bored with tracks.  Too bad we can’t channel that determination into “silence!” or “peeing in toilet hole only!”  That would benefit me in a much better way.

We spent about 2 1/2 hours in the woods.  And really, it was all pretty fun.  Except for when I thought we were lost, which was, ohhhhhhh, approximately 95% of the time.  And also the exercising, which, let’s be honest, that’s pretty much what it was.  If it wasn’t for my third leg (or walking stick, as others might call it), I’d be human mush about now.

So yes, Brad had an idea.  And we walked til the sun went down, and smiled and laughed as if we liked it.  But what he don’t know is that next Sunday is my turn.  (This is where the evil grin goes.  A big, wide evil grin.)

As for today, I don’t feel like walking much.  I have backed up my rollie chair all over my office to get stuff cause I’ve boycotted all unnecessary walking.  Latte-buying excluded, of course.  I do have my priorites, ya know.

Remember that $7 wedge of blue cheese Brad and I purchased at Sam’s a couple weeks ago?

Yeahhhh…

It smells like feet.

So Brad and I were shopping on Saturday, which is really nothing new, but this time I had guilt-free money in the form of a gift card that I earned through my job.  And Brad had his tax refund, so I figured I’d better hurry and weasle a few hundred out of him before he spent it all on himself.

What?!  Oh, as if YOU’VE never done that.

Anyway.

I must say, we spend obscene amounts of time in stores.  I will also say how dare Bed Bath and Beyond close at 9 p.m. on a Saturday night.  I was so totally going to sit in their massage chair for a good half hour.  Poo.

(Seriously, we do that best.  They be closin’ up, the clean up dude going around us with his little push broom, but we ain’t going anywhere until we get our free shiatsu.  Eventually when they see us coming, they will just get the massage chair READY.  Cuz, really … we spend at least $20 in there like every three months or so.  It’s a win/win.)

But I’ve digressed again.

So, Kohl’s was store of choice at about 9:05 p.m.  There is no massage chair, but they have lots of kitchen-y things in which to ooooh and aaaah over.  There was a huuuuge selection of Food Network cookware and utensils, which made me super duper happy.  I honestly couldn’t keep my hands off the stuff.  It was verging on the edge of pervy and creepy, except I wasn’t a dude and this wasn’t a panty bin.  But it was close.

Also, I’m pretty sure Bed Bath and Beyond is regretting their early hours now, cuz I totally walked out of Kohl’s with a $5 spatula.

Next stop: Sam’s.  Had to drag mom and Randy in there with us, as they are the ones with the membership card.  Which was handy for us, as the Rachael Ray cookware set was a whole $50 cheaper than anywhere else.  Ohhhh, man.  I had  to have them.  It was the equivalent of eating a big bowl of mashed potatoes while sitting in a massage chair … if I didn’t walk out of that store with those pots and pans, there be a whole PMS-like situation on our hands.

And why contend with that scenario?  Quite clearly, Brad understands this, and goes above and beyond and buys them for me as an early Mother’s Day gift.  He claims he had already planned on this anyway, but honestly, I think he was just scared of the stink eye.

But look how pretty:

*Sigh*  How did I ever live without these?  And they look so much better in person.  In fact, Brad is in the process of rigging up some sort of harness system so I can dangle these pretty things from the kitchen ceiling.  And then all will be right with the world.

Amen.

This is what happens when Brad goes into a store only a man could love and leaves me out in the car with nothing better to do:

Wowwwww. I really shouldn’t be left alone.

This weekend we took all the kids to the small municipal airport for a plane ride.  It was free, and so by default we were doing it.  But other than that, I thought it would be a super cool thing to do, especially because none of the boys have been on a plane before.

The line was huuuuge.  Well, more huge than I expected or was prepared to tolerate.  I mean, ya’ll who have kids know how it is, right?  Kids and long lines do not mix.  In fact, kids + long lines = poking your eye out with a sliced jalapeno.  Seriously.  It is about that much fun.

So while we stood there for nigh on 15 hours (give or take), two of the boys played a rousing game of I … can’t … stop … touching you.  They were very good at that game.  But Brad trumped them both by making them go stand in time-out by the car.  It was all very good times.

See?

But rest assured, my dear daughter was no better.  She was just quieter about it, and huffed around silently and with dirty looks.

Sigh.  She makey me tired.

All in all, this ranked right at the top of the very best free thing we’ve ever done.  Although, the other free thing was the civil war museum on a 110-degree day, so it wasn’t much of an effort.  Ya’ll know I am not pretty in sweat.

And the happy faces?  Definitely worth the long line.

Well.

Maybe.

Brad and I realllly shouldn’t be allowed in stores.  Unless our point is to buy things such as lawn chairs, bologna, and feminine wipes, stores should probably just lock us out when they see us coming.

Case in point:  Sam’s Club.  That store is just Wal-Mart on steroids, and ya’ll know how good we do Wal-Mart, right?  But we ohhhh so need that jumbo tub of Velveeta cheese.  Oh yes we do.

We don’t even have a Sam’s card.  But we are relatives of those with a Sam’s card.  Well, I am, anyway.  And if Brad and I make it official, well then he marries into the Sam’s card, and that should be worth the 50 years of commitment right there.

(No pressure, Brad.  I’m “just sayin.”)

So we are shopping quietly, browsing through the books and magazines, when Brad decides to wander off alone.  And about 15 minutes later, he calls me on my cell phone to tell me about the giant bag of cat food he’s just procured.  Why should this make me all giddy on the inside?  Dunno.  It just does.

And now I’m running the aisles at Sam’s in the search for Brad and the 1000 pound bag of Iams.  Breathing heavily … breaking a sweat … must … get … cat food …  Really.  I’ve just done gone mental.  But then again, Brad found the bag first.  So who’s mental nowwww, SUCKA?

We team up once again and from that point manage to hook up with economy-size minced garlic that I can keep in my fridge and use at my leisure until 2010, a $7 wedge of blue cheese for no reason other than it’s soooo pretty!, and a nozzle for the garden hose so Brad can play fireman in the backyard.  How we managed to calm down long enough NOT to buy the $27 box of Reese’s Cups is beyond me.  It truly was an Act of God.

This weekend should prove to be yet another fun shopping excursion.  Brad got his tax refund, and I got a $100 gift card from Alamo Rental Cars.  I’ve got pointless merchandise out there somewhere with my name on it.  Seek, and I will most definitely find.

Preferably in industrial sized packaging.

I made this.  And it was good:

Crunchy Spinach Salad

• 2 quarts baby spinach leaves — but how much is a quart?  I just bought 2 of those pre-made bags.  I used 1 1/2.  But guess it depends on how many people are going to eat your salad.  In my house, it was just me because Brad was afraid.  So 1 bag would have been plenty.
• 4 hard-boiled eggs, chopped
• 1 6- or 8-ounce can of water chestnuts, drained — can’t remember what size it was but it was about that
• 1 small package of real bacon bits — don’t know the size but you can find it in the bacon bits section, and really it is just a preference of how much bacon you want anyway.  I bought the Oscar Mayer pouch because I am a slave to brand name food.
• 1 small red onion, chopped

Toss all that together.  It makes a super pretty salad because of all the colors.  But the best part is this dressing.  I think it would be good on any salad.  Or on meat, as Brad suggested, but then again, Brad just likes meat and may not be the best authority on this idea.  He would eat Ugly Green Vegetable Medley as long as there was some beef in it. 

So, yeah.  The dressing goes:

• 1/2 cup vegetable oil
• 1/2 cup packed brown sugar
• 1/3 cup ketchup
• 1/3 cup vinegar
• 1 tablespoon Worchestershire

Whisk all together until blended.  Chill until ready to serve.  And don’t let that ketchup thing throw you off … it really is good and makes a fine substitution for my regulation Ranch.

Now go.  Make salad and be happy.

So a couple of weeks ago, I go to the eye doctor to pick up my new glasses.  I do this every year because my prescription changes so much.  Good for getting to pick out cute frames all the time, but bad because I’m about “2 clicks of power” away from a handicap sticker.

However, this time I got told my right eye got slightly better.  I was like, holy heck … vegetables actually work!  It truly was a miracle because not once since 1983 have I been told my vision improved.  I was thinking Jesus had his hand in my business that day.

Until … (dun dun dunnnnnnnn)

I was sitting in the office chair waiting for my new glasses, getting all excited because in my world, glasses are like cute shoes.  Which probably makes me even more nerdy than normal.

But I digress.

A slight adjustment on the eye piece, a little tightening of the screws, then voila!  A perfect fit.  Except not.  The assistant girl was looking at me odd, takes the glasses off and goes fiddles with them in the back.  We do this routine about 3 times trying to get them to fit on my face without them cocking off the the left.  (Which isn’t nearly as dirty as it sounds.)

But then the unthinkable happens.  I hear this:

“You knowwwww (slight pause, finger on cheek in thinking pose, eyes squinty as if makes thoughts more accurate) … your right eye sits higher in your head than the left one.”

And I sit there.  In dumbfounded silence.  My right eye sits higher in my head than the left one.  Oh my ever loving Jesus.  Where for art thou?

I have never noticed this.  But for the past two weeks, I’ve spent a great amount of time staring at myself in a mirror, and consulting with just about everyone I know.  Of course, asking them the question about my eye is the equivalent of asking does my butt look big in this dress:  who knows if I’m getting the right answer?

But I can see it.  Ever so slightly.  At first glance, or even without being tipped off ahead of time, you can’t tell there is anything amiss.  Apparently you need the highly trained eye of the insane (i.e., assistant girl from hell) to be able to point these things out.  And now, because of my obsessive compulsive disorder, I’ve got a new hobby.  It’s called “wonky-eye watching” and I do it A LOT.

And the glasses are still crooked, not an optical illusion as suggested before.  Which leads me to believe I have wonky ears as well.  Fantastic.

Maybe that handicap sticker isn’t such a bad thing after all.  Better parking spots must surely balance out my ill proportioned face, no?  And less walking always makes me feel better.  Kind of like how mashed potatoes can take my tears away.  Seriously.  It is like magic.

So now I sit at work with my crazy eyes and disheveled eyeglasses.  And I’m about one bad hair day from disgruntled office worker.  Simply put:  I’m a circus sideshow.

Gah!  Now I need latte.  Have a wonderful day, and stop staring at my picture for signs of the wonky eye.  Cuz ya’ll know you just did that.

Poo.