Confessions of the Socially Awkward One

Apparently I wasn't thinking straight when I planned my grocery list a week and a half ago (yes, we only go every two weeks. Otherwise life would be bleak. For me, at least.), because I intended to make a lovely tater tot casserole for dinner tonight. Okay, maybe it isn't that lovely. It isn't much more than ground meat, cream of mushroom soup, and tater tots dumped into a casserole dish, but it is easy, which is definitely one of its perks.

And somehow, here I am, tater tot-less.

Do you think Jacob would eat it if I served straight ground turkey for dinner tonight? (Actually, don't answer that. He'd probably drown it in ketchup and then eat it, but what would I eat?)

Looks like cold cereal and/or waffles for dinner tonight. Again.

Update: I just might be able to whip together some tostadas or burritos or something. Lucky for me, I had a can of refried beans on hand . . . :)

About five minutes ago, Jacob left for the Police Academy, as he always does. Two minutes ago, I heard a very urgent knocking at the door. I bounded to the door, assuming that Jacob had left something important at home and had come back to retrieve it.

I opened the door to a little boy who handed me a piece of binder paper with a drawing of a jack-o-lantern and the words "Pumpkin hed harvey" written on it. I asked him what it was -- twice -- and he replied "Pumpkin head Harvey because his head got cut off." 

I was confused. Was he selling me something? He didn't have any boxes of chocolates on him, newspapers, or even pumpkins for that matter, so I awkwardly said "Thanks!" and he left.

I did notice, however, that he had another piece of paper identical to the one he handed me, and it looked as though he was going door-to-door with this advertisement. Maybe he really created "Wanted" posters and I need to be on the lookout for the mysterious Pumpkin Head Harvey in this neighborhood.

Suspicious pumpkins, beware. I'm watching you.

I'm  in the midst of grading spelling tests (and I wish I was exaggerating when I say I have a stack of papers nearly two inches thick left to grade), and I have to say, these kids come up with some interesting spellings.

Why say "I haven't eaten in a long time" when you can say eat'n instead? And forget fir trees -- I'll take fur trees any day of the week.

Oh, fourth grade. I'm coming to the conclusion that for the most part, I love school hours -- it's just the grading and the lesson planning that makes my soul weep a thousand tears.

I have pictures of people I don't even recognize on my computer. Somehow, that makes me feel like a creeper.

Remember that time I never posted in here anymore? Well, Jacob somehow convinced me to start another blog for the two of us. We'll see if I actually post to it, but here's the address just in case you want to check it out: http://jjericksonfamily.blogspot.com

And I'll still try to pop in here . . . oh, twice a year or so. :)

Jacob and I have been married for seven months as of yesterday. And last night, I dreamed about him for what I think was the first time. Maybe the second or third. The details are hazy.

Anyways, there we were, just chillin' in some nondescript place when all of a sudden I popped his head off to take a look at his insides. Nothing says true love like cleanly decapitating your husband, right? And when I looked down where his neck used to reside, I noticed that his lungs looked a bit . . . odd. So I just reached in and pulled his lungs out and I observed that they were filled with debris akin to what you might find inside a vacuum cleaner bag. (And as a custodian of 5+ years, I think I know what I'm talking about.) Dust, mostly, with some other puzzling elements. Like pens. (?)

As any true custodian would, I upended his lungs to empty the contents into a trash can, stuffed them back inside Jacob's body where they belonged, and replaced his head.

And we carried on as normal.

The end.

I'm in one of those rare moods where I feel the need to burst into song or quote a movie about every ten seconds. This has included gems such as "Be Our Guest," "Imagine That," "Behold, A Royal Army," and yes, even a line from "Hollaback Girl." (Have I even heard that song in its entirety before? If I have, it's been ages.)

Jacob doesn't seem fazed in the slightest.

If you had been driving -- or even if you had been walking or riding your bike -- around my neighborhood this evening, you might have seen me jogging down the street in shorts and a sweatshirt, sweat dripping down my face.

But Jennifer, you might ask, if you were so sweaty, why didn't you just take off your sweatshirt?

That, my friends, is an excellent question.

The answer is this: Somewhere between taking off my regular shirt to change into my workout clothes and putting on a sweatshirt to protect me from the initial outside chill, I forgot to put on another shirt. And I didn't find this out until I was already several minutes into my run, and I clearly didn't want to throw off my groove by running home and putting on some proper attire, so the sweatshirt stayed.

Whoopsie.

Few things cause me more distress and angst than the fact that my cell phone does not recognize "Hooray" as being a word. Every time I try to type it, it comes out "Goosby." 

Goosby? Really? What does that even mean?

It is most irksome indeed.

Me, sitting in bed with my laptop, notebook, box of Kleenex, and a small container of Mentholatum, which in this case means "ointment you rub under your nose to help clear up the ol' congested nasal passages": coughs weakly and, as it so happens, fakely. "Do you want to get me some ice cream for my poor, ailing throat?

Jacob: "No."

I go back to my homework and Jacob leaves the bedroom. After a few minutes, I decide to stop being lazy and get my ice cream myself. Jacob is standing in the kitchen with a carton of ice cream and a package of waffle cones.

Jacob: "It's supposed to be a surprise!"

I cover my eyes and quickly tiptoe back to the bedroom. (Why I tiptoed, I do not know.) Jacob enters a few moments later, with an ice cream cone that he presents to me with great flourish.

Me: "Oh! I'm so surprised!"

And that's why he's (to steal a phrase from Heather) the best in the west.
P.S. I wrote almost that entire entry one-handed, as I was holding an ice cream cone in the other hand. It was tricky.