The Toxic Housewife

Pickles, peaches, and jams.   (We are so proud!)

Everyone just looooves to perpetuate the rumor that the champagne coupe was moulded after Marie Antoinette's left breast.

I'm starting to set a dangerous precedent with all my awesomeness.

Last Saturday, due in large part to 1) a heady sense of freedom brought about by S.B.’s agreement to watch Mr. C AND 2) the knowledge that it was only an hour and sixteen minutes long . . . I imprudently agreed to accompany Bee on a last-minute “date” to see the documentary Chasing Ice . Stupid, self-imposed IntelliQuest ; now look what you’ve done.

I'm in another one of my Moods.  Last night found me prone on the couch, whining at Bee.  I was filled with such intelligent conversation-starters as, "I can't lift my arms!", "There's absolutely  nothing I want to do!", and "Why are you asking me?  I'm so BLAH that I don't even know why I'm BLAH!!" I would have felt sorry for Bee, except that, as referenced above, I was too BLAH to feel anything other than BLAH.

How To Entertain A Dumbass The last time I visited my parents, my father asked me if I planned to go back to school once Mr. C started kindergarten.  Because I am intelligent and able to quickly and diplomatically vocalize my inner thoughts, I immediately snorted at him.