The Good, the Bad and the Ugly

The good:

Ernest picked up his winnings from the orthodontist's contest. That's a strange semi-rhyme (Dontist/Contest). He was really happy. "I don't usually win things," he said. That's how I often felt as a child. I was so surprised when I won a teddy bear at a Sons of Norway Christmas dinner. I might update this post later with that picture, if I can find it.

The bad:

Frank had "stomach flu." I asked him where he got sick. "On the bridge." This is the pedestrian bridge at his community college....I pictured him splattering cars 100 feet below, but he said he made it to a trash can. This photographer has a beautiful series of photos on the campus. Click the link if you're curious.

Photo From Kaplan Aspect on Flickr.com

Also...the beginning of the month and paying bills. Huge bills show up at the end of the year. Car registration (3 of 4 cars), car insurance (all of them), and property tax bills. Ouch. The reason I'm never EVER EVER selling my mother's house? And why we're going to live/retire there some day? Because the property tax is grandfathered...under $600. Our own house's property tax bill? Huge, even with the Prop 13 controls...because it still goes up every year. And we've owned it 20 years. Up up and away.

The ugly. [You've Been Warned]

Something happened at school today. Do I err on the side of caution, and fuggetaboutit? Or do I speak my mind, couching the situation in euphemisms and comparisons, so you get my drift without me saying anything incriminating.

[Update: OK, I did speak my mind and that post was up for a while, but then my overly cautious sense of judgement kicked in and I decided to delete that part. I'm leaving your comments, however. Thank you.]

In the Navy... NOT!!

A couple weeks ago Frank had a phone message from a lying bastard local naval recruiter. (OK, you can see where this is headed.)

The message said Frank and his friend Jason had called the recruiter, and he went to their school but they were on an assembly schedule and were already gone. I thought that was odd as Frank has often said to hell with he is not interested in joining the military. The recruiter called back before Frank got home, I said we had the message.

When Frank got home, we put our heads together and found 3 lies.

1. Frank did not call him.
2. Frank did not do anything with Jason. Jason's last name is alphabetically right after Frank's. (The recruiter was going down a list.)
3. They weren't on an assembly schedule, they were at school all day.

Interesting. The liar recruiter called again 2 days later. And I told him Frank had not called him. He said, "If that's what you want to believe." Implying that my son is lying to me. I told him, "You're the liar."

You'd think being called on his lies, he would give up. Nope, he called again yesterday. Frank was here and told the liar recruiter, "No, I didn't call you. I did not call you." Sadly Maturely, he did not let loose with some of the great lines he and his friends had come up with. Such as, "I'd love to join the Navy. Do you take bed-wetting pedophilic arsonists?"

I won't cook pizza ever again

So here goes. He suggested making homemade pizza. I bought all the stuff, but I was gone most of the day, so I hoped he would take charge. And let it be known, I hate making pizza. I'll do a Boboli if I have to, but it is stressful. It's never cooked right. You can get really great pizza from so many places, even in our Small Town or neighboring areas.

I cook dinner almost every night, usually a really good dinner that most of us eat. I hoped that since I would be gone most of the day, he would take charge.

So I got home at 5:30 tonight and he wanted me to help and I was freaking. The dough was recalcitrant. My portion would not spread out. And my old thin pans...the teflon was flaking off. When I saw the black mystery specks, I threw that dough away. I pulled out my other "good" cookie sheets, but warned, "These are the insulated kinds, they may not cook right? I have a pizza stone (which I think I suggested before) we could use?" Damn me for my questioning female voice but he gets mad if I out-and-out BITCH. Well, he says he's not mad but it sure feels to me that he does.

I prefer one cook in the kitchen.

I had possibly the smallest hissy fit of my whole life (I went in another room and actually shredded a piece of paper), because it's close to but not quite PMS time. I offered to get Bobolis. but no, he muscled the dough out with a rolling pin. Rectangular. I cowered at the edge of the counter and cut up the sausage and veggies.

He chose not to use the pizza stone. The pizza did not cook thoroughly. The boys ate theirs, we cut ours in half and baked it longer on some other non-insulated pans.

My point is, I cook dinner almost every night. We don't go out that often. I do not need dinner to be an ordeal. I do not need to struggle with it, and question it, and beat it with a rolling pin. I am pissed, but being the passive type I am, I will not say anything. He decided to throw out the leftovers. That says it all.

HH, if you read this, remember I love you, but I this is why I don't want to cook pizza at home anymore.