In the past two weeks, I have achieved some fantastic bone-head feats. I have made shrimp Alfredo without peeling the shrimp (although I did manage to peel the tails – loser), almost set a dish towel on fire (can an electric cooktop set fabric on fire? I dunno, but the damned towel was definitely brown and toasted). I have been viciously attacked and almost killed by my toenail (sharp fucker), been shit on by a bird (right on my head), and discovered a plethora of gray (bright white, actually) hair – on my head, like for real – this aging shit just got real and I am NOT a fan.
Where, oh where to start. Words fail.
But what never fails is the universe. It NEVER fails to bring be back down to “reality” when I’m feeling all super-woman and competent-like. I mean, cooking and SERVING shrimp Alfredo and not peeling the damned shrimp? Who does that? I can tell you. Apparently, I do. To Mr. KB’s credit, he totally did not take the opportunity to take the piss out of me about it. I think that he could tell that I was one joke away from crawling under the deck and weeping uncontrollably while killing a gallon of Peanut Butter Rolo ice cream (which, incidentally, is The Shit). Mr. KB done good that night because I gave him material for days and he did not use it 🙂
Every now and then, the universe reminds me how small and insignificant that I am. Just how far I have to go, how much I have to learn, change, do, fix, and be. I mean, I’m mostly not insignificant to my family (they know and mostly like me and like to eat, so as long as I cook, I count *grin*), but overall, in this world, I have yet to establish any sort of significance outside of these four walls. For now, I am a sort of millwright of people, rather than trades – I know a little bit about a whole lot of things but not very much about any one thing. A jack of all trades and a master of none, I’ve heard it said. That’s how I feel on those “the universe is calling you (well, more accurately, me) an asshole” days.
Having a bird shit on your head is really just as disgusting and gross as it sounds. And while it is rumoured to be good luck, it feels like anything but good luck. Case in point – the bird got me on Friday. The same day the lottery pot was $40 million. The bird shit, I bought a ticket and. I. Did. Not. Win. It does not take a degree in philosophy and logic to realize that bird shit does NOT equal good luck.
And having a toenail with serial killer instincts is just wrong and unfair. But it happens. I do not know how. I do not know why. But it happens and I can tell you that it really, really, hurts when your own body turns against you. I mean – hellooooo toenail? Kill me and you die too, stupid-digit. Oh wait, you are already dead so you just do not care do you? Because if you’re already dead (can’t be more dead than dead, yes?) and still trying to kill me then that must mean that you are a zombie toenail (because that is just the kind of messed up cluster-fuck thinking that zombies are famous for). And this is why professional pedicures are out for me – nobody else should have to deal with a zombie toenail with killer instincts. I speak the truth. I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried.
I know that I am waaaaayyy behind on blogging and updating things, like my Hydro challenge, but I’ll work on getting some of those things updated and posted this week. I plead the insanity of the first month of school as my defence, but really, I’m just really, really crap at managing my time effectively. Add it to my list of things to work on. And it’s a really long, long, LONG list.
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