Year: 2009

I might as well confess that I accomplished nothing on my to do list yesterday. In my defense, however, I did attempt to take my car to get inspected but then realized I’d left my current proof of insurance at home. And by “left it at home” I mean I’ve never actually printed out the new one and the one in my glove compartment has been expired for months.

I’m also a little concerned that my car may not pass inspection because something is a little off with the left blinker. It only works when you hold it a certain way when you push it down. Apparently it’s been like that for weeks but I didn’t notice it until P pointed it out the other day. I figure I can just become like P’s grandmother who was known to map out her driving routes based on the way that required the least amount of left hand turns. And really, where do I go besides HEB and the pool?

Although I desperately need to get out to Nordstrom because they’re having their semi-annual sale and I need to look at all the things on sale that I won’t even know I want unless I see the incredibly marked down prices.

On a totally different note, look what came in the mail!

In case you don’t know what that is, I’ll tell you. It’s power. Pure media power.

According to the directions I’m supposed to start recording what we watch beginning this Thursday.

Those poor Nielsen folks don’t know they’re going to get a diary dedicated to old episodes of 90210, The Bachelorette, a bunch of hunting shows that contain the words “wild” or “adventure” in the title, Nascar, and every episode of Johnny Quest that has ever been broadcast because Caroline is addicted to Johnny Quest and we have them all on our DVR.

Basically, I don’t feel like our household is really going to help them get their finger on the pulse of American television viewing habits, which is kind of a shame because look what they sent to compensate us for a week of laboriously documenting our watched programs.

That is five American dollars. In cash.

Don’t think I’m not taking it with me to Nordstrom later this week.

If I can figure out a way to get there without making any left turns.

I’ve been sitting here for the last three hours in complete procrastination mode because, deep down, I know I have nothing interesting to say. Actually, that’s not true because the realization that I have nothing interesting to say is right on the surface, not deep down.

Caroline spent most of yesterday with P’s family. My brother-in-law and sister-in-law are in town and they invited Caroline to go with them to the Quadrangle which is basically a petting zoo on the Fort Sam Houston base. They invited me to go along but I declined because if there is anything I like less than a zoo, it’s a petting zoo. Not to mention the fact that I am attempting to show the 100 degree temperatures who’s boss and now refuse to leave home for any length of time unless swimming in some sort of body of water is involved.

That strategy is probably going to make going to the grocery store a little tricky. I guess I should amend my policy to add that I will also go to establishments that aren’t afraid to crank up the A/C and offer me the chance to stand in the freezer section with the doors wide open while I act like I’m trying to choose between a DiGiorno frozen pizza or a Tombstone.

Although there is no choice to be made. Tombstone is clearly the winner in that scenario. Their thin crust pepperoni has not let me down in almost twenty years.

Anyway, while Caroline was petting deer out in the blistering heat in the name of fun, I planned to clean the house. I managed to get the bathrooms clean on Monday but lost momentum when I remembered that I hate cleaning the house.

There is also a minor issue that is proving to be a hindrance to my cleaning efforts. I mean something other than the fact that I like to call Gulley every few minutes and tell her how much I hate cleaning and wish I had a maid and how people who whine a lot get on my nerves.

There are boxes in my living room.

They’ve been there since we got back from our road trip. They’re addressed to P and each box weighs approximately 170 pounds. I don’t know what’s in them because I haven’t asked. I haven’t asked because I know the answer is going to be something that I have no interest in because what are the odds he’s going to say “I ordered you all sorts of cute new shoes for fall!”?

I just know that we now own a lot of something that is both heavy and fragile, much like my self-esteem after I attempted to do Level 3 of The Shred.

I finally just vacuumed around them because I am powerless to move them. Jillian Michaels can do a lot of things but giving me the upper body strength to move 300 pound boxes isn’t one of them.

Maybe tomorrow I’ll drape them with some fabric and create an alternate seating area for the room. And just think how cute they’d look decked out in lights for Christmas.

Of course my intuition (and the fact that I’ve been married to P for almost twelve years and know him well) tells me that the contents are probably somehow related to hunting season which means they’ll no longer be a part of my decor by mid-September.

Until then, I’ll just enjoy stepping over them every time I have to get to my front door.