We started our weekend on Friday night.
This seemed the appropriate time to begin things, since Thursday was entirely too early, and by Saturday morning, it’s too late to start a weekend, because you’re already smack in the middle of it.
I’m just sayin’.
The cute little neighbor boy was at our house, and I was not in the mood to cook dinner (which is not unique to a Friday night — I’m never in the mood to drag out ingredients and try to combine them into a tasty dish), so Hubs brilliantly suggested, “Let’s order a pizza.”
I’m not sure that I have ever loved him more.
Naturally, the boys were rather jazzed about this, because the boy is convinced that angels sing sweet hallelujahs anytime they see a cheese pizza in the ovens at Domino’s.
Hubs has this thing for jalapenos. Actually, Hubs has this thing for any food item that qualifies as hot. Jalapenos, habaneros, chili sauces, and cayenne pepper make him smile. However, as Hubs has aged (gracefully, like Sean Connery, I might add), the fire oils and the dragon’s breath no longer agree with him, and he usually ends up doubled over, crying out, “Heaven help me! This one’s gonna kill me this time around! This is the big one, Elizabeth! I’m coming to join you, honey!”
Hmm. Clearly we’ve watched some Sanford and Son episodes in our lives.
I have no sympathy for Hubs whatsoever.
When Hubs and I were first married, we were having dinner with my parents and their neighbors. (The neighbors being Sister’s Husband’s parents, because, if you remember from tales of the past, Sister turned traitor and married The Naughty Boy Next Door.) Sister’s Husband’s dad had just been to Florida on a business trip, and he brought home a habanero grown by a local Cuban man there. This habanero would reportedly make dragons seek the drink of the cold rivers. Sister’s Husband’s dad brought this little orange delicacy home especially for Hubs, because Hubs’ theory in life was, “No food is ever sufficiently hot enough.”
Suffice it to say that this little number was indeed hot enough. Hubs popped the pepper — whole! — into his mouth and ended up with blisters. And much sweat. And nausea the likes of which he’d never experienced. And a gut that was on fire. Hubs had to go to bed. His new motto became, “No food is ever sufficiently hot enough, unless it’s that habanero Bill brought home for me.”
However, as Hubs has put some years behind him, foods are treating him differently. The pepperoni/jalapeno pizza seems to be the number one public enemy. Hubs loves this pizza, and will continue to order it, no matter how numb it leaves him.
Friday night was no exception. Hubs ordered our pizzas online. BECAUSE HE CAN. Hubs, being the computer geek that he is, loves to use the computer for all things, whether it’s balancing a checkbook, checking the weather in a far-off town with a webcam, or ordering pizza.
He ordered the pepperoni/jalapeno pie.
I reminded him, “You’re going to be sick.”
Hubs replied, “I don’t care; it’s totally worth it.”
The pizzas arrived. The little boys attacked them like sharks who had swam upon a city of floating seals.
Hubs treated his pizza exactly the same way.
After one slice, he mumbled, “Crud! These jalapenos are hot!” Hubs tried a second slice, and had to throw it back into the box. “I can’t believe how hot those peppers are! Dang! My gut is on fire! I’m going to be sick!”
And then, people, Hubs rubbed his eyes.
And that was the end of Hubs on Friday night. His gut was burning; his eyes were burning; his skin was burning. It was a miracle that he summoned his strength enough to watch The Office, which we’d recorded on the DVR on Thursday.
My professional review of this last week’s episode is simply this: Funny, but nowhere near as funny as last week’s show. But the mega desk? Well, that made me laugh out loud.
On Saturday morning, we went out to Brother Joel’s house for a little birthday party. Brother Joel is Hubs’ other brother. He is not Brother. Brother Joel’s manners are much better than Brother’s manners are.
Brother Joel’s girlfriend’s little girl (did you follow that?!) was turning four, and we were there for a birthday breakfast of biscuits and gravy and fresh fruit, as well as a bright pink cake and tons of gifts wrapped in pink and purple paper.
But really? We were there for the puppies!!
Brother Joel has puppies at his house! He has a seven-week-old Mastiff, and a ten-week-old Rottweiler, and, people, that little Rottweiler was almost my undoing!
Sister and I grew up with Rottweilers. Oh, we never had more than one at a time, because two Rottweilers are a houseful! And then Hubs and I had a Rottweiler of our own for ten years, and let me just say this one thing: Never has there been a better dog than Holly was, and goodness! It’s been five years since she died, and I still miss her dreadfully.
But all that’s just to say that I have an enormous soft spot in my heart for little Rotties, and I was ready to stuff this one into my Suburban and steal her. At one point, I had to ask Hubs, “Please remind me of all the reasons why we should NOT get another Rottweiler puppy of our own. Remind me that I love sending the boy outside to play, without worrying that he’ll step in dog poo. Remind me how hard I cried when Holly died. Remind me that Cat 1 and Cat 2 will literally explode with insanity if we bring another pet into the house.”
And all Hubs would say was, “This little dog is pretty dang cute!”
On Saturday afternoon, I balanced the checkbook. This was something that I have been dreading, because I was off by $68.55 last month, and, being a full-on Type A like I am, I spent four days trying to find it, until I finally threw in the towel and cried and said, “I quit. I am subtracting $68.55 from my checkbook. I am giving up, and I don’t care.” Only I sort of did care, and Hubs had to pat me on the back and say, “Honey, it’s okay. You can just subtract the figure and still be happy in life.”
Have I ever told you that Hubs doesn’t balance checkbooks?
I can hear my dad groaning right now. The man taught me to never give up in the matter of an unbalanced checkbook. I’m sure Pa Dawg is shaking his head right now, as he now knows that his daughter is a Checkbook Balancing Quitter.
But yesterday? Ohmylands! Perfection! It balanced to the penny, and then I proceeded to give all of our money away to people who claimed that I owed it to them for things like heat and cell phones and lights and Internet access.
Later, I ended up taking the boy and the cute neighbor boy to the park, because, hello! The weather was spectacular, and Hubs was working, and the boy was otherwise prepared to rot his brains out by playing many consecutive hours of uninterrupted PlayStation 3 games.
And then we came home, and we set our clocks forward one hour (Daylight Savings, you’re killing me!), and the boy and I had the house to ourselves, because Hubs decided to work until 2 AM, installing a video conferencing system at work.
Combine a late night of wiring and electronic set-up with the time change and remnants of a pepperoni/jalapeno pizza, and you can imagine why Hubs has spent the entire Sunday afternoon on the sofa, moaning that he’s just not feeling well, and that this one might be the big one.
So, I left him there, and my friend, Susan, and I ventured off to see Remember Me at the theater.
Let me stop and be a movie critic for a minute. I have a song that I can sing which will sum up how I feel about this movie.
“Gloom, despair, and agony on me!
Deep, dark depression, excessive misery;
If it weren’t for bad luck, I’d have no luck at all.
Gloom, despair, and agony on me!”
Sweet mercy! I’m not sure that I’ve ever been to a darker, more depressing, UN-feel-good movie before. Yes, the fellow who played Edward Cullen from the Twilight movies was in it. Picture Edward Cullen depressed. Picture Edward Cullen really, really depressed and unable to laugh. Add a tiny bit of color to his face. Add in a tragic ending. There you go! That was Remember Me. I have just saved you the cost of a movie ticket and a bag of butter with popcorn floating in it.
Well, I’m done rambling.
I feel the sorriest for my blog readers when I don’t have anything to type about, because that is when I tend to type the most. And overtyping clearly leads to rambling, and rambling clearly leads to flat-out boredom.
I guess I could have said it all a lot more simply: Hubs got sick on a pizza. We had a birthday party for a four-year-old, and I wanted to steal a Rottweiler puppy. We went to the park. We went to church. We had Sunday lunch with my mom and dad. I saw a movie that was so depressing, sticking pencils in my eye would have been more fun.
Happy Sunday night, y’all.
I’d just like to end by saying that Hubs is sprawled on the sofa with a blanket right now, and he’s watching Man Vs. Food on TV. The fellow on the show is eating hot wings that are making him sweat like crazy. Hubs is groaning and calling it a horror show, and he’s wondering if we have any Tums in the house.