a snapshot of my idyllic eveing

The husband came home slightly cranky. I ignored it and went about my evening, took a 30 minute walk on the treadie, tidied a bit and read for a while.
I made a semi-kick ass dinner. I made a homemade fig-balsamic dressing and drizzled it over some shit I swear I could have pulled out of my front yard. I really think I ate dandelion leaves for dinner. I threw in some feta and dried cranberries and sliced a nice garlicky chicken breast over my salad for dinner. Honestly, it was nice, but I would probably like it better with plain old ranch dressing. But I am still on a mission to try new things and fig vinegar is new. And slightly freaky.

But wait, before I could drizzle my swanky vinaigrette over these weeds, I planned to enjoy some romaine. But my fridge has once again gone wonky and my romaine was frozen. GROSS.
Which involved me throwing a lettuce tantrum and The Man yelling at me that my behavior was not acceptable and then running out to Aldi for this bag of fancy weeds.

I ate dinner with my headphones on.

Then deciding my silence wasn't doing it for him, he went out to do some yardwork.
I laid down to take a nap.
The front door burst open, and he asked where the watering can was.
We had a lot of rain this week. So I know immediately that something stupid is afoot. But he won't tell me. he runs in and out a few times with the watering can. Then he casually says he caught the hedge trimmer on fire.
WHAT IN THE HELL?!
Off the couch, throw a cardigan on over my tank top and out to see WTF he has done and there is a big scorch mark on the neighbor's driveway. And it hits me it really was ON FIRE. And we have a fire extinguisher. Did he come in and get it? No he did not. And it was the power cord that caught fire, so the whole house could have gone up. I got really mad and started yelling at him, in the yard, with neighbors out all over the damn place. And oh, he yelled back! it was a nice, classy moment.
Then the 12 yr old neighbor kid came over to talk to us about his plan to mow the lawn tomorrow. He's short for 12, so he usually talks to my boobs. Tonight, he was especially riveted. I looked down. In my rush to go see what happened I didn't check my top after the nap and I was showing a healthy inch of bra, much to his delight. I yanked the top up, gave the child a dirty look and walked back into my house.
I sent the husband back out with baking soda, dish soap and a scrub brush to clean up the scorch. And while he did, the neighbor kid showed up up to stand over him and say "aww man, she's making you scrub the ground??" in pity. But scrub the ground he did, and then go over and apologize to the homeowner who was OK with it all.

So to sum up:
there was a fire
we argued in public
I flashed a child.

yeah, it's a typical night for me.

I should feel wittier

or something. But I don't. I just feel this empty blog yawning before me, mocking me.
So I scrounged up a cute template. I wanted to add one of those kick-ass project-o-meters I see on all the cool knitting blogs. Oh yes, there are knitting blogs by the bajillion. But I had permanent fatal errors with my shitty code abilities. By which I mean my copy and paste in the right hole abilities. I don't write code. Oh, no. I leave that crap to the hubs. But thanks to computer genius knitters, I triumphed! And now it's cute, it has meters and all that's missing is some navel gazing. My speciality.

So here I am, world: a new blog, a new outlet for my bitchery, and my knittery. I might bust out into song, or tears, I never quite know what the hell is going to happen. If you're here, you probably know me. Or you think you know, but you have no idea...ahhh, remember when The Real World was something other than a drunken, spray-tanned herpes nest?

Here is a crazypants moment that is pretty funny:
At knitting group a while back my knitties Beth and Erin were discussing crockpots. Midwesterners love the shit out of some crockpots in case you never knew this. I think it's genetic. I use mine a lot and many of my friends do as well. I go through them a lot, too, sadly. They drown, they get smashed all to hell by the husband, I threw a dirty one away at 3 am during a basement flood just because, well, it seemed like a good idea at the moment (I miss that thing!) So knitting group, yeah...
My friends both have new traveling crockies. With locking lids. So no more spilling hot chili in the car as Beth explained enthusiastically (she makes some awesome chili, but it's probably less awesome to drive the chili mobile around for a few weeks)
I exclaimed how much I wanted one. And then added "Wait, why does the agoraphobic girl need a TRAVELING crockpot?" Because , yeah...not so much, really.
I got one, though. After The Man smashed my old one to hell by dropping a full third of my glassware into it I figured why not shoot for the moon? Big crockpot, big dreams and all that.