International Ball Dropping Day

Sure we like the horny geese, and washing the car, flirty skirts and flip-flops (though I still do my walking in boots, thankyouverymuch), and being out in the nice weather (at least until it's sprinkler time again) - but we also like spring on behalf of Jason's balls, which believe me, appreciate it more than you can know.

You see, though I complain immensely about the cold, cold weather outside, I cannot help but invite it in. I resent having to wear a coat out of doors, but indoors, I MUST be wrapped in a blanket in order to be comfortable. This means that all winter long, the windows have been wide open. The average temperature in my house is somewhere below freezing - I know this because every morning I have to defrost the shampoo before I use it. We can often see our breath fog up the frigid air as we speak. The furniture tends to collect frost overnight. The upside is that during winter, we don't have to pay to refrigerate our meat, because in essence, our apartment becomes a meat-locker, and Jason and I are the prime cuts. I like it that way.

Jason, however, is a warm-blooded creature, and functions best if his blood is still warm enough to flow through his veins. He becomes incensed on the mornings where I have to revive him, even when I tell him that blue lips are sexy. He finds it painful to urinate peesicles, and inconvenient to wear more than 8 pairs of socks at a time. Complain, complain, complain! That's all he's done all winter long (well, except for January, when he caught pneumonia, and all he did was shiver and wheeze). Personally, I think Jason is just a big baby, but I'll give him this: I have missed his balls. In the transitional period of October, his balls just shrink in reaction to the cold, but by November, they tuck themselves back up into his body and hibernate there. Once inverted ball syndrome has set in, those suckers will not descend until the warm weather is assured.

Jason, of course, blames me. Me! Me, his favourite testicle tickler, his cajones caresser, nut nudger, scrotum stroker. Me! Life is so unfair. Frankly, I think the cold is only a convenient excuse. I personally think the disappearance of his balls has more to do with his recent interest in emo music and the amount of time spent preening in front of the mirror.

However, discussing the situation with Kim, we decided it would be "nice" of me to encourage their descent, and that perhaps with the help of the blogging community, we could get those suckers down for good.

So, towards this end, I propose this: if you have any pity for Jason's balls, you'll link back to this post, and maybe tell your own readers about his missing appendages. Feel free to include any male that you know who's also been suffering sans scrotum these past few months. The linking part is easy, this second part will require a bit more effort, but please, think of the balls! You know in Finding Neverland, the audience claps to show that they believe in fairies...well, Jason's not a fairy. Just a man without his balls. So instead of clapping, I ask you to cross your legs. Cross them right now, and cross them good, and for the love of balls, think happy testicle thoughts. Go!

Go forth in peace, and spread the joy that is International Ball Dropping Day. If you've done me the favour of a link, be sure and let me know (comments, email, trackback) and you'll have earned yourself not just my thanks, not just Jason's balls' freedom, but a link and a mention in the section below. Then we can visit each others' sites and revel in the ballsy love.

Testicle Power!

Visit Kim's ode to this happy day.

St. Jude does her saintly duty - does this make her the patron saint of testicles now?

John heats things up with spring fever.

Nicole bemoans Jason's fate under her toilet-humour-du-jour.

Warcry Girl helps us Spring Forward!, and even offers an anthem.

Michelle offers up In Search of Big Balls, which makes me a little nervous. How big is BIG?

DB writes about another man's balls in I Must Be Nuts.

Thank you Candace for taking part.

Better Safe Than Sorry wishes Jason success and thermal underwear.

Vince lends his sympathy.

Ellen has the balls to remind us of her own story.

Antipo promises to send only her "perviest" readers, for which I am eternally grateful.

Junebugg lends moral support - kind of like an emotional jockstrap, if you will.

Therese provide an 'unrelated' note.

Fairydragonfly hears my plea for help.

Tupperfan chimes in with his original take on "teabagging".

Bud Buckley takes a time out from singing to send me a link.

Red Hot MILF...er, better make that, DILF action

You may have noticed that Jason and I drive each other crazy. Anyone eavesdropping on us might come to the conclusion that we detest each other. But if you take everything we say literally, sure it sounds bad, but I think it's more a reflection on your lack of imagination than our lack of love. I mean, isn't it conceivable that "fuck face" can be a term of endearment? Perhaps not many people would agree with that, or even understand it, but here's the deal: I am not a conventionally affectionate person. I hate cuddles. I tolerate hugs once a fortnight. I prefer to skip the kissing and "get to the good part". And I don't often say "I love you." I rarely say it. Sometimes I say "That'll do, pig" and in my mind, that's just as good. Fortunately, Jason has evolved during our years of marriage, to the point where he can now interpret Jamiespeak.


Jason says: Did you miss me today?
Jamie says: Nope.
Jason says: I missed you too.

Jamie says: Bring me water!
Jason brings water.
Jamie says: What, no ice?
Jason says: You're welcome.

See? We live in peace, honest! Disregard Jason's bruised kidneys. He totally deserved that. We often poke each other and wrestle around on the ground. We call it 'forplay.' We also enjoy seeing who can come up with the best insults. For a while, I reigned with the old "Haha, look at your receding hairline trick!" Classic stuff. But soon he barely cried at all when I said that, which means it was time to switch tacks.

Jamie says: Know who I have a crush on?
Jason says: No, dear, who?
Jamie says: Your dad.
Jason says: What?!?!
Jamie says: Your dad is totally hot. He's a dilf for sure.

You are probably familiar with the American Pie concept of the milf - Mom I'd Like to Fool around with (hah - as if I wouldn't say Fuck. I like to self-censure for no apparent reason). Apparently, I really struck a nerve when I called Jason's dad a dilf. Jason didn't like it, not one bit. In fact, I could see the vein in his receding hairline pulsing violently when I said it. I made sure to point that out to him.

And the greatest part is, I'm not even lying. Jason's dad is hot. I mean, he's no Jason, but he's not bad for a Jason-plus-23 years. Which is a relief. But not to Jason, who thinks this is the worst news since learning that bacon is not a food group.

Anyway, I'm sure I can't be the only one. Surely there must be cases of Moms (and dads) I'd Like to Fondle all over the world. I mean, even Jason has admitted that he finds my grandmother to be sexually attractive. Surely the hot granny phenomenon is at least as taboo as the milf-dilf thing. Granted, you haven't met my grandmother, so it's hard to judge. Just trust me on this one, mmkay?

But in the end, I wouldn't like to do any f-words with Jason's dad. Some of them I don't even want to do with Jason. I just like to keep him on his toes. Plus, if a woman like me went around professing my love for him, his ego would overinflate and his head would explode, and frankly, a headless husband has little use to me. There are things he does with his head that I quite enjoy.

Dear Jason,

I'm sorry I woke you up at 6:30 this morning because "the wind is too howly". I'm not saying that I've learned my lesson, just that I'm sorry.

I fell asleep (finally) around 7, just moments before your alarm went off, as luck would have it. I think you mumbled something at me, and I may have punched you in the nose. I didn't meant to do that, but you know I'm not a morning person, and frankly, that's just a risk you keep on taking. Your fault, really.

I think I dreamed about beautiful blonde women knawing through chicken necks. It was as bloody as you'd think. But even with such alluring dreams to keep me in bed, I somehow dragged myself out of bed at the ungodly hour of 10:48am (if your math is sharp, you'll notice I did not get my full 11 hours of beauty rest, so if I look like a troll today, you have no one to blame but yourself). I hopped in the shower because I know how you like me to be mid-suds when you get home...and I stayed in there until my skin was pruny, but where were you? Not home, that's where!

I got dressed, and you know how I feel about putting clothes on. Even a bra, for goodness' sake! And I waited an hour for you before I noticed that the little red light was blinking on the phone, and sure enough, your wheedling voice Jamie, I'm sorry, but I'm stuck at work until 5.

Until 5?!?!? What kind of person works until 5? Inhuman!

I have been waiting over a month to get this stupid couch. My hips ache from sitting on the lop-sided old one. We both know the delivery cut-off time is 3. Three, goddamn you!

So when you come home tonight, be prepared to find me seething and most likely sucked in between the sofa cushions. And once you haul my ass outta there, watch out! Mama's in a bad mood.

Love,
Me
xo

p.s. I think I might have possibly splintered one of those wooden beads from the bracelets you bought me last week. But it doesn't mean I wasn't appreciative, I guess you could say I just had my hand where my hand had no business being.

p.p.s. But that doesn't mean I'm not mad! Cause I'm soooooooooo mad. Oh Jamie, you said, I'll be home by 11 no problem. I am so confident that I won't even call work to make prior arrangements. I'll just promise you this without making sure. And don't think that phone call I just got won you any bonus points. Oh Jamie, you said, I'll take the whole day off tomorrow to make it up to you. Just remember what I responded: Punch! Punch! Punch punch punch!

Jason bought me an ugly coat.

Jason does not all that often bring home surprise presents. He brings me flowers when we're fighting, apparently so we can both watch them die as I let them rot in their cellophane. But random gifts of clothing? Not so much.

So when he brought home a coat, of all things, for me, I thought either:

a) He's screwing his secretary.

b) He's gone soft in the head.

c) He was walking by the store, thought, Jamie would like that jacket, and just fucking bought it.

Now, in the case of a), I'd have to say that a coat is a very poor distraction tactic. And aren't diamonds more traditional? But then, Jason doesn't have a secretary.

However, I must rule out b) because Jason's head was soft when I got him. And c) seems equally unlikely since he does have a penis, and that's just not what men do. So I keep coming back to the boinking-someone-else theory because it makes the most sense. However, all of this seems irrelevant when considering the fact that this coat is ugly. Ugly. I hate it.

I mean, it's kind of puffy, and really short, and it has snaps, for fuck's sake. Snaps.

So what do I do?

Do I tell him that this is the ugliest fucking coat that I have ever laid eyes on, or do I smile politely and stow it way far back in the closet and hope he forgets about it? Oh who am I kidding? Of course I'm going to tell him it's ugly. If I don't return it, I'll just end up donating it to some charity completely unworn in a year or two, and I wouldn't wish that thing on even the coldest, poorest person in the city. Plus, I'm just not that considerate of his feelings.

On the plus side, he also bought me a shirt that my tits look really great in....hmm, he must be up to something after all.

I am a selfish bitch.

Sometimes, I tell Jason he can pick the movie/restaurant/sexual position. "Your choice" I tell him, as if I am a nice and generous person.

His face clouds over. He knows I am neither nice, nor generous. He declines my offer. "No, no, your pick," he'll insist, but I am steadfast. I make him pick.

And so he does.

And if he picks wrong, as in, picks anything other than what I was secretly hoping he'd pick all along, I will pout.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Waxing Philosophical

I hate cleaning. I really hate cleaning. I consider this to be one of life's great ironies because I really hate when things are dirty. This presents a problem for me, because I often find that I spend 5, sometimes 6 hours in quiet contemplation of whether I will hate it more to get off my duff to clean, or to sit in filth a moment longer. Luckily, somewhere in that 5th hour, my old friend laziness will visit and make the decision for me.

Give Your Man What He Wants

"Mm.
Mm, that feels soooo good, baby. Oh yeah. Like that. Oh yeah. Harder. Faster. Harder. Oh God...
Ahhhhh."

Sometimes, I’m not in the mood.
Sometimes, my arm is still sore from the day before and I just don’t feel like it. But, I do it anyway, because I love him. And, because he likes it so much. In fact, Jason thinks it's the best thing since sliced bread. Actually, I think he would gladly give up sliced bread forever just for 10 more minutes of it. Most men would agree. Most women are a little mystified by it – sure, they like it well enough when it's their turn, but they’re not begging for it round the clock.

Jason sure likes his blow - I mean, back scratches.

Men are simple creatures with simple needs: sandwiches, The Simpsons, a pair of jeans, and most importantly, back scratches.

Yes, back scratches.
Jason will choose a back scratch over a back rub every time. I don't get it. I mean, if there’s an itch in the middle of my back, sure, I’ll take a scratch. But Jason will take a scratch – nay, will beg for a scratch, lust for it – whether itchy or not.

Back scratches are a pastime for men, like football, or channel surfing, or nudie bars. My husband lays out $50 a month to keep my nails pampered in a french manicure. He seems to consider it more a treat for himself than for me (and you bet I’m willing to let him keep thinking that); extra-scratchy back scratches are a great return on his investment.

The Art of Back Scratches

Yes, it is an art. A good place to start is right between the shoulder blades. Rake your finger nails across his skin with moderate amounts of pressure. No need to draw blood – save that for passionate bedroom romps. Combine actual scratching with pressure from the pads of your thumbs for added stimulation. It’s not enough to just scratch up and down, you should alternate with circular and diagonal motions for maximum enjoyment and effectiveness.

The one nuisance of back scratches is the 'a little left...no, my left...now down...down...downer...more down...wait, too far' phenomenon. It can be endless, not to mention frustrating. The best way to fix this is to set a frame of reference, and for this, I suggest making your partner's back into a map of your city. Jason's back is a map of Ottawa – Orleans is on his far right, Kanata is on the far left, with Vanier, Napean, Gloucester, The Glebe, and even Gatineau all making appearances. Sometimes he’ll have me scratch landmarks instead, and I’m scurrying all over his back to find Parliament, or his office, or my sleep lab, and it gets to be almost like a treasure hunt.

Using Back Scratches To Your Advantage

You can pretend to be noble and say "oh, I would never do such a thing", but then you'd be a lying bitch.

· Waking your boy up 'on the right side of the bed' need not be any harder than beating his alarm to the punch and waking him up with a mellow back scratch instead.

· Back scratches make superb rewards. Award them for a job well done at your discretion (but don’t overuse them!).

· They make great leverage too – trade them for foot rubs, making movie night your choice, having your toenails painted, or whatever else tickles your fancy. Conversely, you may also charge a small back scratching fee; don’t be greedy, but do make it worth your time.

· For my money, there’s nothing more convenient or energy-efficient to show your affection than a well-timed back scratch (try it soapy in the shower for an extra layer of entertainment).

Finally, if I ever distractedly give Jason a scratch, he never fails to remind me of the golden rule of back scratches: "Under the shirt, Jay, under the shirt."

Marriage Advice from Friends and Family

Okay, one last contribution to wedding week (well, 3 days, but who's counting?). There's a huge possibility that no one wants to read this, but the truth is, blogs are very self-indulgent. And I'm very self-indulgent. So when my husband set me up with this account, he knew right away that he'd created a monster. Wedding bells are in the air right now, friends are finally getting engaged, many of whom are seeking my advice because I'm the only one in our circle to have already gone through it (I realize I got married unconventionally, but it was still legally-binding, and that's what it's all about, right?). So I've been trudging out my stuff, Weddings for Dummies, and Emily Post's Wedding Etiquette (hah! that's a good one!), and it brings back a flood of memories, most of them good.

Today I am sharing some advice and good wishes from friends and family. At our reception, I decided to make books for each table. Inside we included a few stories of our relationship together so the guests could get to know us as a couple (have I mentioned that the reception was the first time I met most of Jason's family? Yeah, that was trippy). We left pens on the tables and also asked the guests to contribute their own thoughts and feelings of the night. Some were heart-warming, some were hillarious, and as the night wore on (and more drinks were poured), they became more and more interesting. Lots of weddings have guest books, but people generally only leave their names and addresses in those. These books are real treasures that are so much fun to look through, I would not hesitate to recommend this idea to anyone.

_____________________
Jason,

I must say that your wife looks quite lovely tonight!! Especially lovely. So do you, don't worry!! I have no doubt that the two of you will have a really FUN life together. Not a moment of dullness! Not with Jamie around, she's a jewel.

Jamie,

I still remember the time last year when you told me that you were getting married and I said 'No you're not, where's your ring?" and there it was, right on your ring finger. I felt like such a fool! Enjoy your life together, you deserve the best,

MLA (a good friend of mine)

___________________________________

OH you beautiful dancer in your beautiful dress. Baby I'm amazed by you.

Mmmm Cheez!

I don't even like to dance, but look at me dancing the night away. You guys know how to throw a party!

HE (friend from work)

____________________________________


It's wonderful to see such a special young man meet an equally special young lady.
It has been a pleasure to watch you grow up Jason...Thank you for your friendship through the years.

-Jason's father's girlfriend

(p.s. by "special young lady" she means "girl with the big feet", which is the first thing she ever said to me -"I tried on your Doc Martens, and boy do you have big feet!")

_____________________________________

Jamie and Jason,

It's 1:25 am and I am drunk. But you should know this night has been a blast. You guys seem so happy together and I am so jealous!

RC (friend of mine)

_____________________________________

When Jason comes to visit the thing that strikes me the most is the amount of food he eats. With four teenage daughers that are either very picky eaters or always trying to diet, the food consumption is quite low. Add a growing Jason to the family dinner table and you have a human trash compactor. I enjoy watching him eat up all the leftovers and even when he's full he checks around to make sure there's enough for a midnight snack. Having a boy around the house has sure opened my eyes! As much as I love Jason, I'm glad I had daughters.

-my mom

______________________________________

Jamie, we have so many memories together. You have a partially fake front tooth because of me and my figure skate! I remember the lemonade stands, the perms, the poisonous berries, the Care Bear dance recitals. I can’t believe you’re getting married. I keep thinking I’ll wake up in the orange tent with Patches running around and we’ll go on another adventure to find treasure. I wish you nothing but happiness and love,

SS (family friend)

_________________________________________


Bah humbug, I hate Christmas.
Jamie has to learn to tap dance like her Pa.

-grandfather
(As a child, it would make me very upset when he pretended not to like Christmas.)

__________________________________________

A really great name for a boy would have to be Christopher.

Chris (Jason’s friend)
(Chris and Dan thought it would be appropriate to box after the reception; they wrapped their fists in towels, and when they passed out, they were in the neighbour’s yard 2 houses over!)

___________________________________________


Jamie, you look absolutely gorgeous tonight, very happy and in love. Jason, keep up the good work. I’m sure Jamie will keep you on your toes. As for memories, I’ve known you since kindergarten, where should I begin? The loss of your pony-tail, the crush on Jean-Claude, Everfresh and Cactus Butt, the endless number of plays we put on together…Jason, your new wife has always been a little crazy. She used to run straight into the biggest and brightest objects, like conversion vans and bright red posts. She was smart though, she had special classes because she was so smart. This is how I know you won’t let her down. I’m sure she made a smart decision in deciding to spend her life with you.

LC (a very old friend)

___________________________________________

Jason,

Wassup. Sphincter says what?

-Anon

_____________________________________________________

Be careful of the words you say
To keep them soft and sweet
You never know from day to day
Which ones you’ll have to eat

BT (Jason’s aunt)

______________________________________

Jamie, I love you – no I am not coming on to you – I love the fact that you are not afraid to be you…Thank you for listening to my soap opera life and giving me comfort and advice through it all. I hope that married life will not keep you too occupied to talk to moi. You caught a good one.

MN (a dear friend)

_______________________________________

I wish you luck
I wish you joy
I wish you first
A baby boy
And when his hair
Begins to curl
I wish you then
A baby girl

-Pokey
(yeah right)

____________________________________

For seemingly innocent girls, the stream of sticky situations and trouble was endless, and I, for one, do not handle sticky situations well. I mean, if stupidity got us into this mess, then why can’t it get us out of it, right? Apparently not. Thankfully, Jamie, our fearless and sometimes fearful leader, has always been there to help us out. It’s always been a comfort to know that should I ever land in jail, Jamie will be there to bail me out.

-sister #3

___________________________________________


Hi Jamie and Jason

Thanks for the great party. I riliey liked the suckirs and the chocholet.

GB (Jason’s young cousin)
(I hand made hundreds of red heart-shaped lollipops as part of our favours - hard work man!)
_______________________________________________

As a group of married women, we would like to share our expertise with you (64 years of married life all together).

1.Remember Jason, no matter what you say, Jamie is always right.
2.When you have an argument, Jason you always have the last two words: Yes dear!
3.Never go to bed angry, even if you go to sleep at 4am.
4.Jason, when Jamie has a headache, tell her that it’s not her head that you want.

-friends of the family
(they giggled over this message all night long; between the 4 of them, not one spoke English, so this was quite a challenge!)
_________________________________________________

Hello Jamie,
It’s your secret admirer. I have loved you ever since our days in elementary school. I was that little sexy man in the halls. I remember that day that we met at the water fountain. I dream about you every night and I will never forget you until I die.

-Anon

_______________________________________________
Your sisters tell me they want to be aunts!

-MO
(they’re no longer holding their breath!)


___________________________________________

I have no advice because the best advice I’ve ever been given has always come from Jamie. Just have fun and invite me over more J. Memories we’ve shared: Stereo Mike, psychedelic, Melissa’s 19th birthday, St. Patrick’s this year, etc, etc, etc. Thank you for including me in your lives.

SM (good good friend)

Honk if you Love Natural Breasts

Yeah, me too.

So anyway, I got the shaft again this morning. Where did all the hot water go? This morning's shower was destined to suck either way, I guess, but I would rather it suck in scalding hot water than in water cold as a witch's tit (god I hate that expression!). On most days, I have a tried and tested showering method:
1. get wet
2. shampoo, lather
3. soap body
4. wash face
5. rinse
6. condition
7. brush teeth
9. rinse
10. squeegee shower, towel self, moisturize
Today my mind could not connect 1 to 2 to 3 to 4. Before the hot water ran out, this is what I managed:
1. got wet
2. shampooed
3. soaped
4. conditioned
5. screamed
Now if you think things look normal until the scream, look again. It doesn't really matter that I forgot to wash my face, or never got around to brushing my teeth. What matters is that I never rinsed out the shampoo. I just put the conditioner right on top of it, and I was just discovering my mistake when ice pellets starting spitting out of my shower head. So I had to give it a quick rinse, pulling that move where you stand outside the spray of the water and kind of arch your back so your hair is under the water but not much else. This certainly doesn't keep you warm, but I guess I just felt I had to try. I don't think I did a very good job of rinsing because my hair feels heavier than normal today...but it helped my hair keep its curl a little better, so I guess things aren't that bad. And since my hair is dark blue, it's kind of hard to tell it's goopy with shampoo or not. The dark back-drop also is perfect for highlighting dandruff. Great, eh? Well, actually, I don't have dandruff. Oh how I wish it was just a dandruff problem that I had! My problem is hair lint.
Hair lint? What the hell is hair lint?
I don't know where it comes from (no, I don't wear hats). It just appears, in my pretty pretty hair. I'm not a fan of lint. I never knew I had a lint problem, because for the past couple of months my hair's been blonde and nothing shows up in the blonde. Before that, it was pink, and I guess the pink is just so shocking that you don't notice much else. Now I have to remember to give myself a 'lint check' in the mirror before leaving the house. And it's nothing like the lint checks I give Jason's bellybutton. I'm in a whole nother ballgame now.

I went out to dinner with some old friends from high school tonight. We discussed, among other things: who got pregnant, who got married, who got gay. I managed not to call anyone Matt. And I got to show off my new year's gown. Everyone just adored the golden cornstalks.

God I love Diet Pepsi. Love it, love it, love it. I don't need it every day, but I like to know it's there. Some days I just crave it. If I had to choose just one beverage to drink for the rest of my life, it would definitely be water. Or daiquiris. Just tonight I spilled daiquiri on my shirt. And I shouldn't even be drinking because of the meds I'm on, but, meh. Gosh I love Diet Pepsi. Just love it!

I recently heard some very good news. The sequel that we have all been waiting for will soon (well, as soon as movies are made) be coming to a theatre near you! That's right, we finally get to see what happens next for the people on Titanic! Okay, that is in no way true. No way. But the real sequel is even better stuff than Titanic, if you can imagine that...Mrs. Doubtfire! Mrs. Doubtfire!!!

Sometimes, when I'm home alone and watching TV, my ear starts to bleed. The TV is way loud. So loud that even the rats scurry out to frown at me, and they'll usually only keep me company if I'm tossing crumbs the size of softballs. How does the TV get so loud?

Dear Jan,
You know the other day when you were making those noises that you claimed were words, and I insisted were not? Well, having just seen the Lemony Snicket commercial for the first time, I must now concede that you were not making up Lemony Snicket, and that it indeed is a new Jim Carrey movie. Sorry about the misunderstanding. I really wish I hadn't pulled that chunk of your hair out now. But I think if you just keep it up in a ponytail the bald spot won't be too obvious.

I taped The Simpsons for Jason tonight. What a good wife I am! I don't mind tooting my own horn. If I don't toot it, no one else will. Especially since I fucked up the tape. I tripped over the TV wire and yanked it right out of the wall. Obviously, without power, the VCR does not record. So the episode skips from Marge yelling at Kim Cattrall to her leaping on lava rocks. Woops! Please tell me it's the thought that counts. I'm sure we only missed some run-of-the-mill Simpsons hilarity, and we still got the gist of the show. Gist. Hehe. Gist is a funny word.

Good times at the Wing Hing

Today I surprised myself by actually being productive. Not too productive, of course, because despite the fact that I was tired last night, it took me almost 2 hours to fall asleep, have a quick football dream (football dream?), and then I woke up a mere 3 hours later, at 5 am. Jason woke up at 9, and from there it was rush, rush, rush...for at least an hour. Banking, groceries, library, post office, errands...and the fun part is, if you do these things early on a Wednesday morning, you will be joined by throngs of old people who have forgotten the meaning of rush, forgotten the point of the turn signal on their overly large cars, and half the time forgotten why they ever left the house in the first place.

So to reward ourselves for a productive morning we went to the Wing Hing, Cornwall's upscale Chinese buffet (upscale because you sit down to eat). Normally Jason is the king of buffet, so I was quite disappointed in him when he failed to go up for even a third plate. And of course I'm always at least a plate behind because I eat slowly, talk a lot, and get caught up in daydreams more than a normal person should.

At home we put our patio furniture away for the winter (yes, I pouted the whole time), and vaccumed out the car to put in the fall&winter floor mats (yes, I pouted the whole time). Then Jason was off to work, ravioli in tow (ew, Chef Boyarde!) and I was left to the house cleaning that I had been neglecting during my whiny cold days. Three miserable loads of laundry, dusting galore, disinfecting, and I even rearranged the rocks in our serenity pond. Plus, I made green Jello for Jason's lunches while watching Valentino on Oprah. Then, about 5pm, I happened to remember that I only slept for 3 hours the night before, and I had already been up for 12 hours. 12 whole hours. 12 long hours. So I decided that I had done enough, so I sat down to look through the cookbooks I got at the library for potential recipes. I definitely did find some good ones for the crockpot, which are always the most exciting for me. They're like hidden treasures.

I do love my crockpot. My Nanny gave it to me at my bridal shower, and I plugged it in that very week and I have been crockpot mad ever since. Lots of people have them somewhere in their homes, probably in the back of a closet collecting dust. It's a bit archaic, but I think it's high time that the crockpot (or slowcooker, if you will) makes a comeback. It's a nifty little sucker that does all kinds of tricks, but namely: you put some stuff in it in the morning, plug it in, and then at supper time, voila! Dinner is served, hot and perfect every time. When I first got it, my co-worker Silvia was sure I was making the whole thing up. It does sound too good to be true. But it is true!! I have, in the 2 and a half wonderful years my crockpot and I have shared together, amassed quite a collection of recipes. For example, it was through the miracles of crockpottery that I discovered that pork chops are meat! And delicious meat at that!

When I was a kid, we used to get these meat-shaped pieces of blackened tough cardboard, and we would all groan because it was "porkchop" night. You could not bite through these things. Even the dog wouldn't have anything to do with them. They got so dried out in the oven that there was never any meat left, just some severely burned ShakeNBake. Gross. But now when I throw porkchops into the crockpot, out comes this wonderful, tender, fall off the bone meat. Imagine that!

Well, I'm going back to my cookbooks now. Wednesdays are good nights for TV. If you haven't seen it yet, Lost on ABC is really pretty good, and I am very happy to have Party of Five's Charlie back on TV. Then there's Gilmore Girls and Queer Eye, so I'm all set until Jason comes home and finds that I have been asleep on the couch since 8 pm because I only slept 3 hours last night, goddammit. But the good news is, I have recently learned how to program my VCR, so I won't miss anything if I do fall asleep. Happy hump-day!