I watched LOST for 6 years and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.

Son of a bitch. A month or so ago I wrote a post explaining how I would get my brain back after the epic final season of LOST was complete. Six years of mystery, intrigue, smoke monsters, polar bears, the almighty Jacob and how very special Waaaaaalt was, would all be clear as day and I could continue on with my life, growing smarter day by day because LOST wouldn't be taking up my precious brain cells any longer. Instead LOST made me retarded. No one's going to be calling me Einstein any time soon.
Expecting to be blown away with revelation after revelation, questions answered in such a way that I'm in awe of the TV show, my beloved LOST, expecting, yes, it to be better than the Newhart ending. I was that stoked.
Six years, for six years I was a faithful Lostie so was Erv, he's pissed too. We both had our families watching with us in the beginning, but one by one they dropped off, Erv and I stuck with it. I talked Boy #3 to start watching again this season, he hasn't talked to me in a week. I'm going over to Erv's for my nephews birthday today and hopefully Erv knows to have the adult punch ready. We can then console each other or never speak of it again, I'm not sure.
So I bought the T-Shirt and in 8 to 10 business days it will arrive. I'll wear it and everyone will know I'm a moron with no answers.

How could you not like oysters, really?

"Let's try raw oysters."
This sentence came out of the mouth of the husband.
At our 25th wedding anniversary dinner.
The guy who gags looking at a cooked clam.
The love of my life.
The father of my children.
Mr. Adventure.

"Seriously, you want to eat a raw oyster?"
"Yeah."
"Huh."
Our waitress stopped at our table and the husband proceeded to discuss oysters with her. "We've never had them, what do you suggest?"
I never knew the extent of the oyster world until that night. She lost me half way into her conversation, probably less than half way. I was going to eat a raw oyster, really didn't care to hear about it's family history. Besides, I was trying to figure out if the guy in the corner was wearing a toupee. The husband and our waitress decided on what was basically "beginner oysters." She left for our order of oysters and I started to regret volunteering to be the designated driver.

The plate was put down in the middle of our table and the waitress pointed out that we had horseradish sauce, cocktail sauce and some sweet and sour goo. She left, we sized up the plate before us. "Umm, how do we..... what do we?"
"I'm not sure."
"Okay," I said, "I got this. Look but don't look, there's a couple that has the same plate we have over to your left." I pointed with my eyes. "Oh there he goes, he's picking up the shell and slurping down the oyster. So they come in their own little bowls, you first."
He put all three sauces on his and slurped. "Not bad."
"Really?" I one upped him and slurped one down without any sauces.
"You have to wonder," I pondered. "Who was the first person to look at these uncooked blobs and say, Boy does that look good, I'm going to slurped that right out of it's shell."
"The same question goes for the first guy to see something coming out of a chickens butt and said, Yum, I want to fry that up."

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I have been honored with an award from one of my faithful blogging friends Leeuna over at My Mind Wandered. It's a Sunshine Award. I've been telling people for years that I'm a ray of sunshine, finally someone noticed. Thank you Leeuna my wonderful blogging buddy. This award originated with 00dozo at When I Reach. It comes with a list of rules which I won't follow, but sincerely appreciate the award.

Don't put Dad in a coma

The damn diabetic tried like hell to get someone to make him brownies last night.
Ummmmm.....
A. It was 9:00 ......... pm, I've never turned my oven on that late, I'm not even sure it works that late. I probably won't bake anything until Christmas anyway
and
2. No one wanted the responsibility of causing a diabetic coma. It's a little rule I have in the household, "Don't put Dad in a coma."

The husband has phases, right now he's in the "I know more than that guy that has a, I'm a doctor, I have a degree and everything, see it on the wall there?"
So Mr. I don't want all my toes anyway, made them himself. I left the room, I had people to ice in Mafia Wars. The oven works at the ungodly hour of 9:00 pm, because I heard him rattling around in there. Amazingly he found everything, huh, that is brain cell I need to activate, the husband does know where stuff is in the kitchen. He definitely slipped up there, it's in the vault now.

He used the wrong pan and blamed the the unevenness of the brownies on that pan and the fact that it is a gas oven. Gas ovens suck according to the Iron Chef.
I've been asking him for 12 years to even out the oven. Everything I bake is uneven. I take a 9 x 13 to any one's house for dinner and they know it's mine ...... because it's uneven.

At 11:00 I got ready for bed, in the kitchen I said, "Got your brownies huh?"
"Yeeees, I'm still alive and if you will notice I didn't eat them all."
"That's great babe. Would it be alright if I turned off the oven now?"

My uplifting, everything is sunshine and lollipops post

When I pulled out of my driveway this morning and saw the goose standing on my roof like he owned the place, I laughed out loud, LOL'ed for those of you that forgot how to spell. My new U2 CD was cranked up and "Stuck In A Moment You Can't Get Out Of" blasted me awake. I sat at the end of my driveway laughing at the goose and listening to the song.
A goose on your roof has to be the start of a great day, a day that when you start to think about the crap you went through the past couple of months can easily be disguarded by thinking, "Hey, there's a goose on my roof."
Last weekend when Boy #3 dragged me to the video store I perused the used CD's and grabbed "U2 18 Singles."
This is my new favorite song:

Today I dragged myself out of my pissy mood, unstuck.

Send me sedatives

I white hot hate, with the intensity of a thousand suns, teaching a teenager to drive. Boy #3, who is now 18, is just learning to drive. This is because I kept grounding him from driving to put off my 19th nervous break-down. But now we're kind of tired of driving him around. Send me sedatives, the instructions have begun. I spent the entire day having "my driver" as I started to call him, driving me from errand to errand.
We bought him pants, stopped at the Scary Asian Dry Cleaning Dudes, got me a mocha, headed off to the WalMarts (I go there once a week to make myself feel smart) it's easy all you have to do is walk in the entrance and walk out the exit, the rest of them can't do it. Really I should get a video of that one day, just prop up a lawn chair and watch the confusion as they try to decide which door to use.
By now I've had enough of the passing of my driving wisdom on to another teenager but he wants to go to the video store.
"The one with the weird parking lot." I ask, "I have trouble in that one and I'm an excellent driver. Police pull me over to tell me what a great job I'm doing on the road."
"I plan to pull into McDonalds next to it."
"This is the last stop. Next to the last stop we still have to get the new propane tank."
We're going on three hours of me pressing an imaginary break and a death grip on the door handle. It's time to go home or time to ground him again, I'm not sure.