She’s going out of my mind

Oh yea…so it’s been a rip roaring good time lately. Hence the lack of desire to write anything.

Oh well. I’ll recap

Thursday night: Fought with JewelrySlut about Shmuppie’s behavior. Not good times.

Friday: woke up in all sorts of pain. I felt like I was having a stroke or something. My upper back and chest were killing me. I figure I pulled/strained something in my back or ribs at the pool. Not good times. I could barely breathe. Got in huge fight with Shmuppie for pissing all over the place. As a result, her toys were taken away until she gets her act together. She’d taken about 47 million steps back and we’re both ready to kill her. During said fight, ChurchBomber called to tell us that MerlotMan’s aunt has some sort of brain tumor going on. Since he’s the only lucid member of his family, he’s kinds in charge of her and his father at this point (his mom passed away last month). So, he’s probably not coming down this week. ChurchBomber may just because she needs a rest from it all. So, and YES, I am selfish; I’m bummed out because thanksgiving has high suck potential if they don’t come. Because…

Saturday. Brother-in-Law (henceforth known as Quasi (as in moto)) calls. Now, he’s come in handy lately with his box moving skills, but otherwise, he’s a fucking retard. I mean it. Fucking retard. We’d been expecting and dreading this call. He wanted to know what time and what to bring on Thursday. Well, nearly 45 minutes later, JewelrySlut was nearly in tears. Talking to him is like talking to a retarded rock. We have no clue what they’re doing, but it hurts. This is also combined with her Father’s odd behavior lately. He’s coming in tomorrow from FLA. But lately, he’s just acting odd. Like he’s almost forgotten how to take care of himself. JewelrySlut’s naturally not happy. He’s 9 hours away by car and, generally, a pain in the ass. He’s not sure if he wants to come here for Christmas. Wha? So, maybe we’ll have to drive there. Like we need that mess. We rallied later in the day thanks to a nicely prepared diner and our friends Beaujolais and Champagne. If I’m still feeling nice, the recipe may even follow.

Sunday: A mostly OK day, but the dread of the coming week hangs over us. We did the Thanksgiving shopping. So far, we spent $152 on wine and $230 on food. And, the 2 people we really want to see probably aren’t coming. And, we still have 3 0r 4 bottles of wine to buy and all the fresh produce needed to buy. Good times. But, we mostly watched football and tracked our fantasy teams all day (1-3 for me on the day. But the 1 was against wifeypoo).

Shmuppie did well with the training. She had one accident on Saturday when she was in the bathroom trying to get the potty seat all set up when she let loose. So, maybe we made some progress.

Oh yea and work fucking sucks the nuts of the nastiest thing you can imagine.

So, last night, we (and when I say we, I mean I) watched The Poseidon Adventure on NBC. I liked the original, and this was starring Steve Gutenberg. Sign me the hell up. Well, it was worse than I could ever have imagined and when I say worse, I mean hella better. I could spend days going into the inaccuracies on the ship, but I won’t because you all are likely bored already. Needless to say, we drank a lot, I was enraptured and JewelrySlut was snoring. AWESOME!

The basement’s dry. That’s good. The final carpeting is tomorrow. That’s better.

I was reading something this morning and it said that a fun thing to do is Google your high school girlfriend. Since I had nothing better to do, I did it. Well, it seems she’s married and involved in her prep school’s alumni association (yes…prep school. What have I told you all? I went to snob school). I even found a picture from last year. She pretty much looks the same as she did in 1992. I think that scared me a little bit. Kinda one of those WHOA moments. Well, I hope she’s become a better lay since 1992. I would like to think that I have. Nothing like 2 teenagers bumbling and bumping against each other like drooling apes to start you on the journey towards sexual fulfillment. I shudder to think. But, giver her props. She was my first everything. I’ll give you all something else to belittle me over… We started dating in February of my junior year of high school and I’d never dated anyone prior to her. Yup. I was a loser. Big time. So, she got to break me in. Then the witchy voodoo woman in a bathing suit came along, plied me with contraband beer and sex and swept me away to a more better life. So, thanks to HRB. I guess you did OK. Or at least you did the best you could. Or at least…ah hell. It was a nightmare. The only thing left to do is ask the question: Well, now that you found her, what do you do with the information? Email her and say “So…see you got hitched. Good to see you got over me. You should hear what people told me for about 2 years after we broke up. Woohoo…you really were a fucking lunatic, weren’t you?”

Want a recipe?

No. Then get the fuck out. This is what I made on Saturday night. It was good and easy. Like JewelrySlut.

Hardware needed:
Big nonstick skillet
Cast iron skillet

Software:
2 big ass thick t-bone looking pork chops
2 bunches of spinach
4 cloves of garlic
2 shallots
Bread crumbs
Parmesan cheese
Salt and pepper
Chicken stock or water

Heat oven to 400 or so. Clean the spinach and trip off the nasty end stuff. Chop the garlic and shallots. Sauté them in a little oil in the non-stick pan until they smell lovely. Add the well-washed and well-dried spinach, lower heat and cover. Cook until it’s cooked. Season appropriately. Then, add a little stock or water. I had stock because I had just made some. Yes, I am gay. Add less than a cup. You know, enough. Then add the breadcrumbs and cheese until you have something that has the consistency of stuffing or paste or gloop. Spoon out about ½ a cup into a smaller bowl.

Take the porky goodness and slit (I said slit) open the big side to create a pocket. Stuff in maybe 1 tablespoons of the gloop. Not too much, you don’t want it running all over the place. Sear the shit out of the meat and then cook until done in the oven. Take them out, let them rest and plate with some more of the gloop. Serve with wine. Eat, enjoy, spend the night farting.

Good times.

11 thoughts on “She’s going out of my mind

  1. Later…later. Now is not the time nor the place. Well, it's going to be the place. It's just not the time.

    I like how you're gossipy about things that happened 13 years ago. Nothing like keeping current.

  2. Hey, I learned from the best; my mom and dad got divorced 30 years ago and she's still pissed at him. And she's the one who left him. I Googled an ex boyfriend and found his email so I sent him a quick email. Turns out it was his KIDS email. Great, now I'm perceived as a clingy, psychotic who emails ex-boyfriends.

  3. I've Googled my old friends from high school, and out of maybe ten people, only one even had got any results. Then when I Googled my own name, I found like a zillion sites, because of writing for the newspaper and stuff. You have no idea how ashamed of myself I am for being so proud of that — like, "HA, bitches! Where the fuck is YOUR name?"

    Also — have you tried putting Shmuppie in a burlap sack and beating her with reeds?

  4. Sorry to hear about shmuppies potty training woes. (This is coming from someone that opened up her diaper and made crap-tastic artwork at age 1 – I think I put my family through a lot in that department, but lets not GO there) Sorry to hear about the pain you woke up with that morning, and some of the stresses you've been going through. But hey, that recipe looks good, maybe I'll copy and paste it into a word doc and try it out. well…maybe. That would involve some kind of cooking. Not something I excell in.

  5. 1) take phone from wife.

    2) "Hello, Retarded Brother in law?, Hi, NGD here, listen, I have no clue what's going on here, but you are making MY wife cry, and that's absolutely unacceptable. Ok? See ya, have a nice T-day and maybe give us a call when you treat My family with respect.

    3) Click.

  6. Andy…it's not a respect thing. It's like…well…have you ever tried to have a meaningful conversation with a sponge? It's more like that, except this sponge has a rudimentary grasp of English and the concept of time. JewelrySlut stats crying because it's just so damn frustrating. He's a retard. A retard who happens to have a kid, a mortgage and a job as a social worker. Be afraid.

  7. Schmuppie: take her to a child psychologist. Father-in-law: take him to a psychologist to see about potential Alzheimers. Thanksgiving: feel better knowing that I will most likely be sitting home alone and drinking myself into a crying jag because my so-called best friend was recently an ASSHAT to me. When I called her on it she turned it all around and made like she's the victim. Now she isn't talking to me. Aren't I just a little ray of sunshine?

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>