What up, Wednesday?!

Coming home for lunch today, I thought of the best question. The remote key for my car is the most convenient thing ever; when my hands are full of stuff all I have to do is feel for the lock or unlock button or the trunk button et voila! My car does exactly what I want it to. Now why on earth don't house doors do that? Good grief it is hard to unlock my front doors. I have to unlock two locks each on two different doors and you know the deadbolts are so stiff you have to worry about breaking off the key in the lock. What a serious oversight! Why don't we have remote locks for our home doors?! Surely it couldn't be that difficult or expensive, but HELLO 2010, what's the deal? After loooong minutes of scrambling for the correct key (with my hands still full, of course), I get three locks undone just in time for Sam to hear me and come unlock the last one from the inside. Maybe that's the real question, there...why don't I just knock?

Speaking of the man, the myth, the legend: as you may possibly imagine, Sam is kryptonite to women of all ages. Little girls adore him because they know deep down that he is a real live prince, girls in the middle love him because he's a stud and moms can't stay away from him because he's a whole continent away from his own mother and only sees her every few years and darn it he needs a mother on this continent!

I perfectly understand all of these reasonings, but for some reason some of the moms get that "you stole my little boy from me" attitude toward me, or even "you're not good enough for my little boy". What the heck?! My own precious, beautiful, loving mother-in-law doesn't think those things, so what in tarnation (oh yeah, I said it.) gives some other woman the right to act like I have wronged them by marrying my husband? Who, by the way, is of no relation to them whatsoever. Baffling, no? Shall we blame this on menopause? Is that allowable?

All that to say, one of them felt the need to yell at me on Facebook this week. Ridiculous. Unbelievable. Completely unwarranted. I have met her a grand total of once, so why on earth does she get to come at me with her weird, irrelevant assumptions about my life? Blech, anyway...

Alright, Surrogate Mothers of My Husband (for the most part, thank you for being the wonderful women you are, and for loving us both), here's some fuel for your fires. You know when you eat something incredible and you ask what's in it/how to make it, the cook almost always says "it was made with love". Well, if love is the main ingredient in all tasty meals, then that explains why my food makes people cry. I hate cooking, so naturally I infuse every dish with hate and it turns out tasting like the devil. (Devil flavor is basically scaly, slimy, dense, mushy, bland, dry, etc.) I'm sure I would just love cooking if I could freaking learn how to do it, but cook books are a total waste if you don't know what you're doing to begin with. I mean, there are instructions on shampoo bottles but cook books don't tell you that if you mix the ingredients in the wrong order you'll end up with a brick or that your house will fill with noxious smoke if you heat teriyaki sauce or that certain veggies come in different sizes and you only need one elephant leek vs. 14 regular leeks so 14 elephant leeks will not fit in your house, much less in your pan.

I usually feel like a semi-intelligent, mature person...until it's dinner time and I turn into a complete wreck, stomping around, trying not to cry, wishing that we could eat the table instead (it looks very hearty and nutritious). Of course Sam is infinitely patient and has no problem eating raw veggies and salami every night of his life, if it makes me feel better. It does a little bit, but what would really make me feel better is being able to pull off a doggone recipe that doesn't look like I scraped it off my tires.

Ay caramba this is all so negative. Sorry, we've been trying not to eat sugar for a couple weeks and I think it's catching up with me. Maybe I need to hit the candy bowl in my office and get back to you...