Excuses, excuses.

Hey, you guys!  How’ve you been? Good!  Well, enough about you, let’s talk about me.

So the pie thing shockingly well.  I didn’t burn the house down, and the pie was not only edible, it was good.  Take that, um…cooking, I guess?  Anyway, other than that, I haven’t really been up to much.  Unlike everyone else I know.

I mean, so many of the people around me have been running around like chickens with their heads cut off.  (I have never seen that phrase in print before, it’s kind of gross, huh?)   I’ve avoided the pressure because of one thing:  I’m really good at making excuses.  Like, really good.  So good, in fact, that I’m going to share my list with you.

  1.  “I had Taco Bell today.”  This is a good one, because no one will question you after that, for a couple of reasons:  1)  They absolutely DO NOT want to hear what happened after that, and 2) every person in America and probably Germany has a Taco Bell story. (My husband has a Taco Bell legend.)  They already know what’s up.  However, you can only use this one once every few weeks, otherwise people will think you’re either a masochist or just plain stupid
  2. “Not unless you want to help me move.”  It’s surprising how well this one works, considering people don’t generally move that often.  It’s one of those things that people don’t even want to risk walking into.  I personally used this one three weekends in a row a while back, and it worked every.  Single.  Time.  Even though I haven’t moved in eight years.
  3. “I don’t have a babysitter.”  This one has a limited life span, since once your oldest hits the teen years it becomes assumed that you have a built in baby-sitter.  I have the great fortune of having the Destroyer as my oldest, and everyone know that ain’t nobody trying to leave him in a house alone with, well, furniture and dishes and windows and such. However, if your kids fall in the 1-7 age range, you’re golden.  Especially if you have more than two. It also helps if you happen to have the spawn of the Devil himself.  Or if your daughter may be a sociopath.

    sto
    Seriously, no one wanted to baby sit. Ever.
  4. “I’m broke.”  Cause nobody wants to pay for you.  Or maybe it’s just me-no one wants to pay for me.  Not even for the sheer pleasure of my presence.  Just kidding, I have like, three friends, and one of them is married to me and he has no choice but to pay.  I also have no job.
  5. “I don’t feel like it.”  Okay, so be careful with this one. It’s a classic, but keep this in mind:  This one is for the professional lazybones ONLY.  You have to be soooo lazy that you’re not even up to inventing a legitimate excuse.  Or, in my case, so lazy that you probably have a real reason for your inability to do something and you’re not even up to sharing THAT.  Also, the “I don’t feel like it” requires real conviction–you must not be talked into feeling like it.  It doesn’t matter what “it” is, you have already professed your feelings or lack thereof and THAT IS THE END.  FINITO.  The “I don’t feel like it” must be resistant to tears, begging, anger, and bribery.  That’s right, you don’t even feel like taking something you want to do something you don’t.  THAT, my friends, is excusery (not a word? It is now) at it’s finest.

There you go.  You are very welcome, because I have saved you from drudgery and irritation.  Did I miss any?

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Refried Revenge.

You guys.  Oh man.  I have not been well.  And it is all because I can’t say no to bean dip.

That’s right.

So a few nights ago, I made a delicious bean dip with the works: salsa, sour cream, etc. Here’s how that went:

Bean Dip:  Hey.  I’m pretty freakin delicious over here, right?

Me: Om, nom, nom.  Crunch. Gulp.

Bean Dip:  That’s right.  Cause you don’t used reduced fat nothing.  Keep eating, chunk-o.

Me:  Well, I’m full, sooo…

BD:  Noooooo!

So I put it away in the fridge because for some reason I have a refrigerator that presumably keeps things cold and out of the food-poisoning temperature zone.  At least that’s what I thought.

So the next day, I have the munchies and who do I see?  My old friend, Bean Dip.

Me: Hey, BD.  I’m so happy to see you!

BD: Oh really.  Is that why I’ve been in there kickin it with Milk and Riesling?  I’ve seen you hang out with Riesling twice since the last time we talked.

Me:  Oh, well, I’ve been really busy and stressed out lately, so…

BD:  Whatever.  You’re here now. (strange laughter)

You guys.  This is important.  Never mess with a bean dip scorned.

Bean Dip woke me up at five a.m. with a punch to the gut.  And then another.  Tears were streaming out of my eyes, but I couldn’t move out of the fetal position.

Jean Claude Van Damme IS Bean Dip.
Jean Claude Van Damme IS Bean Dip.

Then Bean Dip apparently had been talking bad about me to my friends, Stomach and Colon, who passed the word on to a gang of their friends, aka the Digestive System.  So now, they are all pissed off at me.

I tried to placate Stomach with gifts.  Small ones, at first, like crackers.  She just threw them right in the toilet, the ungrateful heifer.  Bean Dip is long gone, but seems to have left behind some friends to keep up the gut punches.

Colon just kept screaming over and over again.

The Digestive System gang refused to settle down.  They just kept fighting amongst themselves to see who could inflict the most pain on my body.

I tried everything.  I even prayed to their porcelain god, kneeling before her, crying and heaving.  I asked her why she liked seeing me suffer this way.  “WHY?” I sobbed.

She whispered, “Bean Dip was a good friend of mine.  Now you will pay.”

Wait a minute.  Now I will pay?  What was happening the last five hours? Obviously nothing, because Stomach taught me the true meaning of the words I have nothing left.

Fifteen days minutes later, I used my last bit of strength to throw myself into the shower, where I cried some more about Bean Dip’s cruelty and betrayal.

Clean, and but a husk of my former self, I army crawled from the bathroom into bed and passed out for several hours.

When I awoke, it was to the sound of the Big Man’s ringtone.

“Hey, you think you can go get the kids? And what’s for dinner?”

Seriously?