papa-paparazzi

I’m not going to say that Crockett brought home a ‘Glee Greatest Hits’ CD from his trip.

But I’m not going to say that he didn’t, either.

Yesterday I woke up ravenous. Like, waiting for oatmeal seemed ridiculous even though it only takes like four minutes ravenous.

Fortunately, Frosted Mini Wheats are always there for me. This was the bottom of the box, too, which is totally the best part because of all the little sugary nubbins that end up down there – you know, the ones that turn to sweet mush in the milk? I love those things.

Yes, I did spend all morning doing homework.

No, I don’t find anything amusing about S -> aSS. Unless you do. In which case I totally do too.

Leftover tuna casserole = good. This kiwi = bad. This is why I hate buying fruit in packs – four kiwis in a plastic container may seem like a good deal (it really was, from a price-per-kiwi perspective), but if one or more of the kiwis is icky you won’t know until you get home.

I ate it anyway, because I paid for it. Damn it.

Eating with the door open and the spring breeze blowing into the house made the kiwi very slightly more bearable.

Ha. Bearable. And there’s a mug from the Black Bear Inn of Vail. See what I did there? BEARable? I’m awesome today.

Then I walked the dogs, ran myself, grocery shopped, dog food shopped, and painted my fingernails.

All this and the only thing I’d had to drink with lunch was peppermint tea. Nary a coffee bean in sight.

Also, the pet food store I go to has a frequent buyer card – buy 12 bags of the same dog food and get the 13th free. Yesterday was my 12th bag, so I took home my free 13th bag at the same time.

I love free stuff.

For some reason all day long I was thinking about quiche. I never actually got it together to MAKE quiche, but since it stayed with me all day I scrambled some eggs with goat cheese for dinner. Crockett brought home all of this boy food from the mountains – you know, generic ‘wheat’ hamburger buns and the like – and the bottom of one of those made the perfect squishy plate for my eggs.

I did the asparagus for 45 seconds in the microwave with a little olive oil and salt. Sure, it wasn’t quite as delicious as if it had spent 30 minutes in the oven and gotten all crispy around the edges, but for the level of effort? Totally acceptable.

Turns out at some point in my getting-stuff-done day I’d broken the garbage disposal.

How dare you mentally accuse me of breaking it just so I could watch Crockett be all handy-manny. I would never do such a thing.

Probably.

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