Foiled.

What's worse than a foiled dinner?
I'll tell ya! What's worse than a foiled dinner is having a small taste of what's to come the night before, only to be left foiled come the night of said dinner...Grr.

Sunday was going well. We had taken a trip to the hospital to visit, watched some of the AWESOME Vikings game, and also made our way to the opposite side of town to visit with some MORE relatives.

On the way home, I was responsible and stopped at the grocery store to pick up meal items for my week..including the classic ingredients for Spaghetti and Meatballs.

Since I typically DREAD putting a meal together on Monday night, I thought I'd be proactive and put my meatballs together on Sunday night. In with the beef I mixed Italian bread crumbs, fresh grated Parmesan cheese, basil, garlic, onion, olive oil and a pinch of salt and pepper.

The brilliant mixture left me uneasy sitting raw in my fridge for too long...so I HAD to bake them right then and there. But what to do after they were done baking?? OH! I KNOW!! Put them in the crock pot with my homemade sauce mixture and let them all simmer together.....People, I was so excited that, not only was my meal ready to go, but all I would have to do come Monday night was boil some noodles and VIOLA! The perfect meal.

I've been a crock pot owner for YEARS...but I guess I don't use it enough to have crock-pot-common-sense. I let my sauce simmer with my meatballs overnight...in the morning things smelled AMAZING....so of COURSE I let it simmer on low while I was at work....only to arrive home on Monday night to burnt, nasty smelling stench that riddled my entire home.

My dinner was foiled....by my own stupidity.

Plain noodles with a pinch of parm was our dinner. Definitely not what I hoped it was going to be!!

Lesson learned.

The Broken Record

I want to rewind to a time when I was taking a D.A.R.E class. What's the phrase they use again, oh yeah! "Just Say No To Drugs or Alcohol." Do you remember how they taught you to be a broken record? Repeating yourself over and over and over again....They "said" when the bad people with beer asked if you wanted one (ha, what a joke, right?) they would get annoyed if you kept repeating yourself by saying "no, I'm not interested" over and over again, and leave you alone to live your life in harmony sans drugs or alcohol.

What D.A.R.E failed to mention is they ripped off the "broken record" technique.

Who did they rip it off from, you ask? I'll tell you who they ripped it off from.

Toddlers.

I swear, little man has MASTERED this technique. "I want more, mommy. I want more, mommy. I want more, mommy. I want more, mommy. I want more, mommy." SER-I-OUS-LY! Yes, it's cute that he's actually talking...but COME.ON! Hanging out with a toddler for an evening is proof that the broken record works...but it's also proof that a broken record drives you to drink.

Maybe D.A.R.E. should've thought this technique through before using it as their master plan to keep kids away from drugs and alcohol.

Quack Attack

Lately, it feels like all of the people I know are trying to get their ducks in a row. I am trying to do the same, but I feel like my ducks are of a different breed. Theirs consist of organizing finances to return to grad school, planning a wedding, doing remodeling projects around their homes, etc. Mine consist of paying off large amounts of debt, struggling with a decision about returning to school to achieve my first degree, reorganizing my finances so I can afford either of the previous (plus afford to pay rent, my electric bill, and buy groceries), deciding if buying a house is truly plausible for me, settling on a school district for little man to call home, all the while keeping my home life stable and happy.

I really don't know how I'm going to get these duckies to line up. Thinking about it makes my head begin to throb. I try to live my life taking "Baby Steps" (ha, no pun intended), but I feel so overwhelmed with my exotic and burdening ducks, I can't figure out which baby step to take first.

Blah Blah Blah...I'm a whiny baby. I wish I could find a duck wrangler who would willingly help me either a)win the lottery, or b)line my ducks up whilst creating the lease amount of grey hairs on my head as possible.

Ouch.

Mosquito bites on your feet are not fun. Better yet...mosquito bites ANYWHERE are not fun. Next time I'm outside, I'll have to remind myself to stay covered from head to toe...or fore go the wilderness altogether!! I SHAKE MY FIST AT YOU MOSQUITOES...I SHAKE MY FIST AT YOU!

Tuesday's with Bleh

I really don't like Tuesdays. There's just something about them that makes me wish we had every Tuesday off of work.
Today, I have been barraged with tedious tasks that are beyond my control at work, various attitudes that I am misinterpreting, burdening thoughts of being a bad mom, added stress of trying to write a thought provoking essay about "Why I should receive a full ride scholarship to online college" and frustrated by three projects at work that need to be finished by yesterday. Do you think there's enough on my plate? Me neither ;)
I will either blame this day on PMS (which is plausible) or Tuesday. My vote goes for Tuesday!!

Get Over It

Why is it so hard for people to get over and move past break-ups? I am so confused.
A little backstory:
A friend of mine from college had been dating/engaged to a guy for a few years. The past six months of their relationship have been nothing but lies, and back-to-back issues. The straw finally broke the camels back almost a month ago, and their break-up process began. What gets me is how back and forth she has been. When we talk about how horrible he had been treating her, and how much better off she'll really be, she seems very clear in the head...but when I ask her what she did the night before, she tells me she let Him come over and spend the night. I don't know why this is bothering me so much either. It's not my life, it's hers. Maybe I'm just urked because I sat back and let this loser get in the way of our friendship for so many years...and now that they're "broken up" he's still getting in the way. Maybe I'm irritated that she's not following through with what she's telling me (in a way, it almost feels like she's lying to me since she goes around doing exactly what she tells me she's NOT going to do).
I.just.don't.get.it.
Can someone please explain to me why she is acting so nim-whitted? Where should I draw my "friendship line" of morals and say enough is enough? How much of this "saying one thing, and doing another" should I tolerate?
Maybe I just need to take my own advice and get over it.

State of Indifference.

I feel as if I am in a state of indifference lately. I don't know what my problem is, if I even have one. I have been super moody, a bit opinionated, and feeling like an old spinster. I'm going to be blunt...maybe I need to get laid. Yes, I said it. But then I wonder...would having a crazy romp session really calm my random mood swings?
I really hate to think of my self as irritable, but lately that is all I have been..and it's driving me crazy! I know, in my heart, that it's me, and not my surroundings. The only consistent thoughts running through my head as of late have been "And ya wonder why I'm single!" (said with an extreme amount of sarcasm...).
I find myself wanting to slug people for their idiocy, or tell people off for making comments that I wouldn't normally be offended by. I am also finding myself wanting some alone time. I don't really feel like answering my phone. I don't really feel like making small talk, or putting effort into people other than myself and little man ...I've never felt so selfish as I currently feel right now. Really...I am not normally like this.
I think I can over-think reasons about why I am in this funk for days upon days. I could blame this on my stressful relationship with my mom. I could say this is from the stressful lack-of relationship I have with my dad. This could stem from my non-existent dating life. Financial reasons could be to blame. Frustrations with daycare for multiple reasons is also a thought that crosses my mind.
I just have a lot on my plate right now and have had a lot on my plate for oh..I don't know, THREE YEARS! Again, normally I keep myself mostly put together, but I just feel like I've lost a bit of motivation to stay politically correct. Maybe proclaiming my selfishness through here is a way to make me feel less guilty about my actions...Realistically, I think I am subtly trying to tell everyone that I'm sorry...and I am desperately hoping that I haven't totally destroyed the way people view me. Hmph!

The Return of Mr. BoJangles.

I am the poster child for someone who should probably be medicated...either that or I just have extremely bad karma. I haven't decided yet.
Alone. That one word means so much to me right now. I feel alone. I fear alone. I see people on the streets alone, and wonder if that will be me in fifteen, twenty or forty years. I wonder if I will have someone to come home to, someone to cook for, someone to hug me, or someone to sit around and say nothing with.
Last night I was faced with an issue I thought I had dealt with. Mr. BoJangles reared his ugly face via my horrible discovery of his feces on my linen shelf (which sits four feet off of the ground), on my high hallway closets, the floors of both closets, the floor of MY closet, the shelf of MY closet....You get the picture. I'm convinced that my SECOND STORY apartment is infested. The odd thing about this whole ordeal is there are no signs of Mr. BoJangles in the kitchen.
For those of you that personally know me, you know I'm not a neat freak...To my defense, I don't leave food around my house, more particularly in my closets.
Dealing with something like this is such a damn headache. Especially when you are alone in the matter. I stayed up until almost 2am de-cluttering my floors and clearing out areas of my closets.
Did I mention that I have had traps laid out since the last time Mr. BoJangles showed himself to me? Peanut butter baited traps. Talk about a sneaky asshole of a mouse. The least he could do was get himself trapped BEFORE shatting all over my closets, sheets, shoes, carpeting and life.
Instead of freaking out and leaning on someone (aka, the guy downstairs), I decided I could handle myself. I prepared myself for just about every dropping that was flung my way. I looked in boxes and behind boxes without shaking or fear. But damn, what I wouldn't have given for my (non-existent) husband to be by my side.
I have been told since the day I found out I was preggo with little man that I should just ask if I needed help. I think people just say that to make themselves feel better about life. I have made attempts to ask people for help, and, if I can get them to actually answer my phone call, they usually politely decline my request. This morning, I attempted to reach out to my mother. Her response to me telling her that I couldn't conquer the enormous task of defeating Mr. BoJangles alone, while watching a 2yo, was saying "You need to buck up!" All I wanted to shout at her was "FUCK YOU!" but I refrained. I did, however, snap back at her saying that I wasn't telling her this to receive tough love from her. Tough love is and was the last thing I needed at this particular moment in my life. I needed a someone I could lean on. I needed my mom. Instead, I must have accidentally dialed the number of the lady who thinks it's too difficult to dog sit a 10 month old puppy AND hang out with her grandson who happens to LOVE dogs at the same time, and makes it a weekly habit of getting drunk to the point of slurring and blacking out on a weekly basis. (wow...I'm on a roll right now!)
I also have notified the lovely management company of my apartment. I was trying to maintain a certain level of sanity while leaving them a voicemail this morning, and in doing so, forgot to leave a return phone number. Since I knew I wouldn't be able to count on them to look my number up in their database, I made a follow up all around the lunch hour. The lady I spoke with was ridiculous. I almost feel like she was attempting to blame ME for the fact that my apartment building was infested with Mr. BoJangles. That didn't bode well with me, but I managed to bite my tongue while silently telling myself "what goes around comes around you nasty whore." When I asked her if I would get reimbursed for picking up traps of my own, she acted like I had just asked her to solve a nuclear physicist equation. She then reiterated that the on site maintenance dude would be in my apartment and would be setting more traps....I swear, if he puts more of the stupid traps that DID NOT WORK in my apartment so help me god my head might just explode.
My emotions came to a roaring head at about 8:45 this morning. I had been sitting at work trying to plot out my next move in this situation, and then came the tears. My soul really really really wanted to start ugly crying. It was begging me to release all of my nasty frustrations...but I just couldn't do it. Instead of the full on ugly cry, about a dozen or so tears streamed down my face. Nobody knew it happened, except for me, now you, and the paper towel I used in a horrible attempt to prevent myself from looking like a raccoon. (Note to self: if I ever start ugly crying in public again, make way to a bathroom to double check I don't have mascara around my ENTIRE EYE...thanks!)
So much for a nice weekend. So much for a girls night out. So much for sleep. So much for keeping makeup on my face in an orderly fashion. Kiss my ass Mr. BoJangles.