It's Not Much, but...

Happy Valentine's Day to all those that love me. 


The ones that tolerate me, or worse, feel indifferent, y'all can kiss my ass.

We moved over the weekend, to get away from the House that Mold Built.  It was amazingly non-stressful.  Except for the constant barrage of, "where do you want this?", I did remarkably well.  And, about a dozen or so of our closest friends not only moved my entire house if shit I don't use much, but they hung around for the creation of several fine IKEA monstrosities.  So all my Valentine's gifts were already collected, a few days early.

Now, it's just a matter of figuring out where to put the overwhelming amount of stuff.  We have entirely too much. No, I don't think you quite understand.  Our kitchen is full.  FULL.  And Sky King just said, "You know what's scary?  I just found 3 more boxes of kitchen stuff."  I stared at him, wide-eyed, and realized he was talking about the stack of boxes he was standing by.  NOT the boxes hidden in the craft room.  He doesn't know about those two.  Yet.


Our new place is bigger, with more rooms. When we were orchestrating the relocation of boxes, we had to give quick names to the rooms so that people would know where to put stuff.

Off the kitchen, we have a room full of cabinets with a built-in desk. It goes out to a sauna room that has a hot tub in it. The cabinet room became known as The Random Room.
We have a spare bedroom now. It contains a bed and some extraneous furniture, as well as Sky King's wardrobe (damn you, 1970's house, built before walk-in closets had been invented!). That room has become The Drunk Tank, due to several friends claiming it as their own when the Summer Party Season begins.

We are still working out the name to our wifi. Unfortunately, we have a neighborhood full of wonderful, kind, generous people. Since we don't want them to call the cops on us when the inevitable over-indulgences of the summer begin, we are trying very hard to be nice. Therefore, we want to name the wifi something funny, yet not too risque'. So far, the winner is Surveillance Van #58.

So today, on the day when we are supposed to be our most romantic, I will:

• Finally take a shower
• Put away more shit I probably don't need
• Refill all my pill containers
• Change my address in as many places as possible
• Try to put out before the kids get home from school

Do I know how to spice things up, or what?

Our gift to each other is the new place.  It's amazingly spread out, with tons of property to run amok.  It's already been dubbed, "Walker Ranch".

I hope you day is filled with tons of love, affection, and Nookie.  And wine.  And chocolate.  Yep, that'll do.

#NaBloPoMo Last Supper

:::Epilogue for the Month of November:::

In an effort to promote blogging and writing in general, November is National Blog Posting Month.  The thing is, bloggers should post one post each day, for the entire month of November.  If we can't come up with something, there is a writing prompt, a sort of "topic of the day" if you will, to get the creative juices flowing.

Originally, I was planning to apologize for having strange, off-topic posts this month.  Then I realized that is one of the things I already have going for me-off-topic strange posts is like my signature move.  So, I will instead apologize for posting so much, you are unable to keep up.  If you wish to ignore my NaBloPoMo posts that are writing prompts, you can do so by ignoring any posts with that strange word in the title.  however, each post, regardless of the reason for the post, will be classic Aimee-strange, odd, possibly littered with profanities.

If I knew whatever I ate next would be my last meal:

Well, I assume that I would be dying, rather than converting to some system where I no longer need/can have food.  Otherwise, my choice might be different.  For instance, if I was moving to a feeding tube, I might choose something crunchy. Or, I might choose something fairly healthy, because maybe the feeding tube is because of some horrifying accident in which my son smashed open a pressurized can and the shrapnel cut my throat, severing something important that prevents me from getting nourishment via mouth. I would say something smart like "severed my esophageal sphincter" but I have no idea what it does, or even how to spell it.

Where was I?

Last meal-dying. Got it.

I am again making assumptions. I am cheating on my diet, and including all the foods I no longer eat, but wish I could.

1st Course:
Max's Opera Cafe' Fantasy Torte (I know this is a dessert, but if I'm dying, I want to make sure I get the best stuff in. I will save a couple bites for the "last-taste-in-the-mouth". I know you know what I'm talking about....
Here is a photo, grabbed from the interwebs...

What you see above is a dense chocolate cake layer, followed by a layer of chocolate mousse, then a lemon-y cheesecake layer on top, all covered by a sinful chocolate ganache.  :::insert Homer drool:::

2nd Course:
I would have to say artichoke-spinach dip, with pita chips. not the ones that are super thick, though.  just thick enough to not break when I scoop up a mound of yumminess.

3rd Course:
My mom's homemade chicken nuggets she would make when I was little. With ranch made from the Hidden Valley packet in an old mayonnaise jar. Side dishes would be bacon mac 'n cheese and french fries from Nation's.

Of course, I would end the meal with a couple saved bites of the fantasy torte, because if there's one thing I've learned in almost 30 years of PMS, What starts with chocolate should end with chocolate.

Now excuse me while I clean up the drool on my keyboard...