socially (cue)less : round 2
I’m working on the patience thing. I’m working really hard. But I swear that being hungry and not having a working printer is a lethal combination.
Me: “I don’t understand why YOUR computer prints just fine and yet I have to attach what I’m trying to print to an email and email it to the printer. This is about 3 steps too many and frankly, it just pisses me off.”
Seeing as sunset was more than 10 hours away at this point Ali would be been wise to agree with me and solve my problem, right? But my husband decided instead to address the fact that the email I was sending to the printer lacked a “subject.”
Ali: “How can you send an email with no subject? That’s not right.”
Me: “What’s the problem? Have I offended your printer’s delicate sensibilities?”
Ali: “That’s not the point. It just doesn’t make any sense to have no subject. What if the printer gets confused?”
Me:“Oh that’s right! I forgot the printer has feelings and logic as well.”
At this point my husband nodded – completely satisfied with my response. Which just reiterates that we have made zero progress since my post this past May on his inability to pick up on social cues.
I’ll report back in another few months but frankly, the outlook isn’t too good.
cookies
I wish I could say that lately I’ve been consumed by important things like Congress reaching an agreement to raise the debt ceiling, but the truth is that my #1 priority has been exactly this:
What am I going to eat when the sun finally sets?
Let’s face it: cooking isn’t my strong point. I tried for a while…really I did. I studiously watched The Food Network to learn important things like how to make a roux. But then I realized it makes no sense to labor over homemade macaroni and cheese when I get comments from Ali like:
“I don’t like your macaroni. The one out of the blue box is so much better.”
In any case, let’s be honest here: nobody really visits my blog to admire and replicate my sad little no-boil lasagna, right? I’m sure we’d all agree that Ali’s inability to clean up his crap or his addiction to things that require electricity lends to far more interesting reading.
But thanks to my fear of wasting food I actually did make something worth blogging about. So if anyone else has issues like me and is stressing about how to use up a box of instant oatmeal I suggest you invest the 10 minutes required to make these fabulous cookies.
And when you devour these at sunset and your husband says, “Those smell good but don’t look like regular oatmeal cookies,” just do your best to ignore him. That’s all you can really do.
Oatmeal Raisin Cinnamon Cookies
3 packets of instant oatmeal
1/2 cup all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon of salt
1/4 cup brown sugar
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon baking powder
1/4 cup raisins
1 teaspoon of vanilla
1/2 cup room temperature butter (I used salted because can one ever have too much salt? No.)
Mix everything together, drop onto a cookie sheet, and bake at 350 for 12-15 minutes. Makes 12 cookies.
lessons
Even though I’m the one who’s been waking up after just 4 hours of sleep for 8 consecutive days to eat at an ungodly hour of the morning, my husband is the one who slept for 12 hours straight this past Sunday. I think it was because he was exhausted from moving his breakfast dishes into the sink instead of just next to it.
I imagine it’s tough to be him.
But at 10 am, after finding a newly added teacup precariously balancing on top of his cereal bowl, I knew it was time to make Ali pay for the error of his ways.
Me: “It’s time to clean out your closet.”
Ali: “No way.”
After completely disregarding his opinion we spent two hours cloistered in his walk-in going through clothes, shoes, cables (always), event badges, mismatched socks, cuff-links, and ties.
Two tuxedos, a suit from Ali’s college days, 1,000,000 miscellaneous business cards, a very ugly pair of pants the color of vomit, and one rather suspicious Burberry knockoff later we dropped four bags off to Goodwill and 1 more to the dry cleaner.
Since I’d been awake since 3:45 am I was exhausted and decided to take a nap. Guess what I found when I woke up? My husband’s lunch dishes balancing on his breakfast dishes while he was fast asleep on the sofa.
Holy sh#$. I’m going to lose my mind.
While I'm not going to win Mother/Wife of the Year Award anytime soon, I haven't killed anyone yet or shot myself in the head. And that, my friends, is how I calculate success these days. 
FANCY THAT FANCY THIS 