Name: chef knitbits
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I’m having brunch in an hour. My house is filled with relatives. Ones I like and ones I don’t. When rhubarb crisp is browning in my oven, everything seems all right. We’re going to the Rodeo in a few hours, hence the before rodeo brunch. A
Due to lack of funds, my husband and I agreed to write each other a Valentine’s Day card. Instead of dinner and a movie, we’d refinish the bathroom which is what we really needed to do. Well, I’m sitting here exhausted after applying Venetian Plaster for eight hours wondering if he actually took me seriously because I could sure use some chocolate lovin’. Surely he’ll get me something, right? I think I’m going to just make sure “nothing” means chocolate and dinner. To be fair, I’ll make the dinner.
“Wait, don’t flush! I’ve got to go too.” Ok, I’m into conserving water but for god’s sake, why does my husband think this is acceptable?
My body and my mind are at odds. One tells the other it’s beautiful while the other tells it to stop lying. One is working hard physically while the other fools it and tells it it’s lazy. My body has caused harm to my mind and my mind has been hurtful to my body. I try not to look in the mirror because the battle begins. The bickering just won’t stop. Some days they get along but most days I have to mediate. A chef who secretly struggles with food is indeed a conflict. My creative cooking leaves me feeling awful after it’s over but not cooking leaves me feeling empty. Make it stop!
I entered upper middle class white woman hell today as I pulled up to the store even before they opened. “Since I live an hour away, could you stand in line for me dear? There’s a vacuum I saw in their add that would be perfect for you.” I’m not sure what she meant by that but what it meant to me was that she’d be willing to pay for it so I was in.
There I was, ten minutes until the doors opened and I was twenty third in line. These women were out for blood. One tried to sneak past the line hoping no one would notice when she was attacked from behind by a screamer, “The line starts back there!”
The doors opened. I headed towards the pool umbrellas…gone, leaving its
“The patient is a very pleasant 30-year-old right hand dominant housewife…”
That’s how the letter started. There were other things in the letter diagnosing my bilateral carpal tunnel syndrome like, “Nerve conduction velocity study” and “positive Phalen test’ (whatever that means) but none as poignant as the first. I know I didn’t get the chance to make him my famous chicken and dumplings or show him my newly knitted socks but he’s right. That pretty much sums up my outer shell. I’ve become my greatest fear, diagnosed by Dr. Escalante.
An angel appeared at my door knocking politely. My order had arrived. Thin Mints. I love the girl scouts.
It starts out low and soft and ends up screaming “vrvrvrgrrrrr!” That’s the sound of a crank light. My husband thinks it’s cool I don’t get the point. He likes turning the crank. Last night I heard a horrible sound, turned over and there was his grinning face all lit up reading a book. We don’t use cell phones but if he sees you with one, he’ll charge it with his crank light. It only takes an hour but he never makes it past five minutes before crank arm sets in. Maybe after a few days I can have him working like a hamster to keep our electric bills low. He's also motivated by money.
There was this woman on the Discovery Channel who could make herself orgasm just by thinking about it. They had her hooked up to all sorts of wires, pressed into a cat scan while onlookers monitored her brain induced, hands free climax.
Meanwhile, my brain tricks me into thinking my hair is full of flesh eating bugs after simply changing a light bulb. Two tiny dead gnats fell into my hair after taking the outside cover off the light. I thought I got them out but they must have come to life and burrowed into my scalp. I feel like they’re all over me. How come that chick’s brain gives her work free orgasms and mine gives me itchy gnat syndrome?
There’s a topless man in my neighborhood. Rain or shine, he’s topless. Sometimes he accessorizes with a Dalmatian which helps the eyes a bit but I’m serious, Topless Man is always topless. We went on a walk yesterday and sure enough, Topless Man was washing his car, topless. Two days ago, while taking in the garbage can, he stopped to chat. Maybe he was checking out my rack because it is a show stopper but my point is, even with the short shorts, your man nipples make me gag.
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