That would be a no. We don't have drapes yet. However we have carpet. We have 70s porn star carpet. All over the house. The only difference is that instead of high-pile black carpet a la 70s porn stars, we have cheap. builder-grade white carpet. I just want to know who the asshole was who thought white carpet would ever be an acceptable idea - Powder? Was our house built by an entire team of agoraphobics? I don't even have to go outside to track dirt in. In fact, there is a spot on the carpet underneath our sofa that looks like someone was brutally slaughtered. There's chalk outlining the body, seriously. I just don't know what to do about this dilemma - well there is no dilemma. The dilemma is finding a way to deal with this heinous "used-to-be-white-the-day-it-was-installed" carpet until we can afford to do something different. I'm one of those people who goes insane when I can see particles and shit on the floor. Can someone shake me? No matter how often I vacuum, it still looks like someone sprinkled crap through a flour sifter. I guess I just think that white should be white. Red should be red. Black should be black (I'm talkin to you Sammy Sosa). I'm going to have a nervous breakdown.
To add to my imending nervous breakdown, I have been outsmarted by banana bread two times in one week. The first time, I followed my Nana's recipe. This woman is like the King Midas of food. Everything she makes is delicious, so when it came out and tasted like cardboard, I figured this cookbook must have had a misprint. So today, I try a different recipe, and I'm really stoked about it. I don't even want to get into how badly I got owned by this loaf of banana bread - let's just say that the center of the loaf looks like what got the Chilean miners stuck.
I'm not a complete idiot. I'm actually a really good baker. By a really good baker, what I mean is that I can follow a recipe really well. I could never make up my own recipe, nor do I care enough to even try. I'm a crappy cook, but a good baker/recipe-follower. I'm just really pissed off about this. That's 4 cups of flour, 4 eggs, 3 cups of sugar and 6 overripe bananas WASTED. I don't get it. I'm stumped, but at the same time I don't really care. Eating banana bread isn't going to help me get back into a size 6 months.
Speaking of size 6 months, I saw Dr. Phil's teaser for his interview with Taylor Armstrong that airs tomorrow. That poor woman. The teaser MADE ME CRY. Granted, I have been extremely hormonal for the past week or so (who am I kidding, I have been hormonal for the past 25 years or so), so I'm not sure if I was feeling worse for Taylor, or for her poor lips. Those babies have been inflated to within an inch of their life. They are like a giant bounce house at a kid's birthday party. I would hate to see what they would look like if they suddenly deflated. Can you imagine? Like my mom said last night, the skinnier she gets, the fatter her lips get. Her abusive husband is dead now, so the only logical explanation for these fat lips is injections or one hell of a yeast infection. I'm not meaning to be hateful. I just am. No, I seriously feel for this lady and for her daughter.
And for her lips.
Collins is blabbering on , and she's just so sweet. I love making her laugh. Kid's got the greatest belly laugh.
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