Crazy Candy Compulsion

Game Over?

What do you mean, game over?!?

Oh, it’s not like I’m lacking for things to do.

Quite the opposite, actually.

But you’d never know it with the way I’ve been procrastinating.

I’ve got laundry to sort through.

A dishwasher to empty.

Meals to prepare.

Floors to vacuum.

And an assortment of other tasks I’m legitimately forgetting…

Or choose to forget about.

It’s been raining every single day this week.

No sun + tons of rain = no motivation.

I’m behind on everything.

So why not take a break and play a round of Candy Crush?

Or maybe a few hundred rounds, while I’m at it.

Yikes.

I hadn’t played Candy Crush in years.

Yet, this week, I completed over 290 levels in just 3 days.

I don’t know whether to be proud or ashamed for allowing myself to get sucked into such a major time drain.

I might be in need of inspiration.

Or a nap.

But look at all those pretty colors!

It’s candy, for goodness sake!

Candy!

Besides, the game’s claim of “swiping stress away” is too appealing to pass up.

Ooh, look!

I just earned infinite lives!

For two hours only!

Must. Keep. Playing.

It’s rather unfortunate that domestic pursuits don’t motivate me more.

But no.

The curse of being an Undomestic Goddess.

And every level successfully completed rewards me with a declaration of Fantastical!

Which should, theoretically, make me feel good about myself.

Except for the fact that I can’t help but question the actual existence of any such word.

Fantastic, yes.

Fantastico, sure.

But fantastical?

Hmmm.

When all five of my lives are used up, it’s time to do…

Well, whatever it is I’m supposed to be doing that I clearly would rather not be doing.

Sure, I could buy more lives.

But I won’t.

The offer to buy a little extra “help” is just not that appealing.

I’m not necessarily arguing the fact that I need help.

But my guess is that isn’t the kind of help I probably need.

I rarely download games to my phone.

But I do still have a few on my Kindle.

I’ve been reading the same page of the same book over and over for the last two weeks on that very Kindle.

And Candy Crush was just kind of there

So I’m too distracted for distractions like reading.

But I can play for hours on something that’s meant to be played in short bursts.

Go figure.

Suffice it to say, my priorities are sorely lacking lately.

But I did manage to put up Halloween decorations.

And I also walked the dog during a lull from the rain.

So I managed to do something productive.

Oh, and I also scraped a sticky, melted wad of cherry Starburst out of the dryer.

Eww.

I may not excel at domestic things.

But at least my problem solving skills are still intact.

Maybe Candy Crush is good for something, after all…

~Happy weekend, friends! So… What’s your guilty time-wasting pleasure? Haha!~

Swipe the stress away, huh? It's not like I was doing anything productive, anyway...

Swipe the stress away, huh? It’s not like I was doing anything productive, anyway…

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Beep Beep Bo Bleep

Is this the real life?

Is this just fantasy?

Well, one thing’s for certain:

There’s no escaping reality.

Fire! Fire! Carbon monoxide warning! Get out! Get out!

No.

Not this crap again.

But this time around, it wasn’t merely the obnoxious chirping signifying a dead battery.

Or the smoke detector getting triggered by my disastrous attempts at cooking.

No.

This was a full-scale notification of distress, with every single alarm throughout the house screeching in synchronized cacophony.

At a ridiculously ungodly hour of the night.

Which is obviously when I do my clearest, most rational thinking.

I’m normally the world’s lightest sleeper.

Yet I jolted from a deep sleep in a state of utter confusion.

What was going on?

Was this seriously real?

The Bigly Bestest Doggie would probably know.

For surely, if anything were truly wrong, he’d alert us and then heroically save us the way Lassie saved Timmy.

Right?

Or not.

Loud noises terrify The Bigly Bestest Doggie.

And so he just laid there in his bed, looking for a cue of what to do next.

And then it hit me:

We had absolutely no concrete plan of action in place.

No clear-cut escape routes.

What the hell was wrong with us?

What kind of parents would wait for a moment like this to start planning?

I mean, we did have a plan.

Once upon a time.

In our old house.

But apparently we hadn’t given it any thought since moving several years ago.

Did I mention my husband was out of town for the evening on a business trip?

I briefly bemoaned my myriad of failures as a mother, figuring I’d probably drop dead from a panic attack anyway before my senses finally kicked in.

Only one kid stirred with all the commotion of the alarms.

The other zombie either somehow managed to sleep through it or simply didn’t want to be bothered to get out of bed.

My oldest demonstrated impressive priorities as he sleepily muttered that he couldn’t afford to spend $200 on another phone.

I forced both kids to move their butts and get out before rapidly searching for a potential source of fire.

After examining every single room, closet, and the garage, I dashed outside to check the perimeter.

The alarms were shockingly audible outside, too, their ear-splitting decibel enough to wake up the entire neighborhood.

Speaking of neighborhoods…

We just so happen to have a rather passive aggressive Facebook page for our development.

And while occasionally helpful, the discussions can get downright ugly sometimes.

I could almost picture it…

The audacity!

The nerve of those rude neighbors allowing their fire alarm to go off and disrupt our sleep!

The next time that happens there’d better be real flames bursting through the roof!

And why is that dog of theirs running frantically down the street?

Hello, animal control?

Fortunately, the alarm stopped on its own several minutes later.

Upon discovering it had been a false alarm, I got the boys settled back into bed for whatever was left of the evening,

I warily laid back in my own bed, unable and unwilling to sleep.

I could’ve sworn I felt a surge of heat as I thrashed around in bed.

Adrenaline?

Or was something really on fire?

I bolted out of bed to do another thorough check.

Then I noticed the flashing red light on a detector above my bed.

Something in my bedroom must’ve triggered the alarm.

But what?

A sadistic insect?

Unusually high humidity?

A defective smoke detector?

(Because that’d be incredibly comforting.)

Or was it my domestic ineptitude?

God knows I hadn’t dusted all that recently…

So I suppose that could’ve been it.

I’m far from coordinated when woken from a zombie-like state of sleep.

And you know what the best thing to do when you’re exhausted and can’t see straight?

That’s right!

Haul a gazillion-ton expandable ladder out of the garage!

And then attempt to drag  that ladder through the house without taking out a wall or knocking yourself out.

Obviously.

Isn’t that what any normal person would do?

That beast of a ladder could’ve reached the top of the Empire State Building.

Hell, that thing could’ve reached the top of Mount Everest.

But I couldn’t figure out how to open the monstrous thing.

And once I finally got it open, I didn’t pay any attention to the orientation of the battery when I yanked that sucker out of the alarm.

So I fumbled around with that for several more minutes.

Thank goodness it was only a false alarm.

But it was still downright scary.

And it showed just how ill prepared we were.

Which is even scarier.

The next day, the boys and I discussed fire safety and evacuation plans.

I think it’s safe to say that while we now have an effective plan in place, I also effectively scared the living crap out of them.

Now I’m worried if there’s ever another false alarm, they’re going to bolt out of bed and jump out their second-story windows without being 100 percent certain there’s actually an emergency.

I can picture it now.

Oh well.

Better safe than sorry.

Oh, and that ginormous ladder?

It’s still sitting in the middle of my bedroom, two weeks later.

But good news!

It’s being repurposed!

The ladder works surprisingly well as a clothes hanging rack.

The Industrial Look is fashionable, right?

Repurposing is awesome!

Beep beep bo bleep!

~Happy Friday, friends! Anyone here a fan of irony? Well, guess what? As I sat here typing this, my thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the wail of tornado sirens and hail slamming vigorously against the windows. Fortunately, everyone is safe. But I think we’ve had enough fun for a while…~

Could this be the future of bedroom design? If so, I want due credit for starting this trend!

Could this be the future of bedroom design? If so, I want due credit for starting this trend!

Culinary Mayhem

If you can read, you can cook!

I read that somewhere a while back, and I could’ve died laughing.

I can read well enough, thank you very much.

But cooking?

Now that’s a different story.

As it turns out, that line is actually the title of a cookbook.

I’ve never read that particular cookbook.

But I’m way beyond the point of help, anyway.

As far as I’m concerned, the need to “refuel” is not only a major inconvenience, but an unfortunate human inefficiency as well.

It’s a necessary evil, at best.

And how utterly ironic that I am always hungry, yet I don’t want to be troubled by stepping into the kitchen to prepare anything that might take longer than 30 seconds.

Every time I open the fridge, I secretly wish that my next meal will magically materialize before my eyes.

I can bake decently.

From a box.

I’m usually able to follow those directions well enough.

Unless I don’t have all the ingredients and end up having to do a little experimental substituting.

Who needs a stick of butter anyway when you’ve got a whole tub of rice pudding?

Right?

Yeah.

I have no business being in the kitchen.

If I had a personal chef, I could probably get out once and for all.

Before somebody really gets hurt.

Case in point:

I’ve almost been knocked out by the freezer door on several occasions.

And I’m convinced the ice maker on the fridge is also trying to kill me, as it spastically fires off sharp-edged ice cubes at random angles across the kitchen.

There’s also The Oven Fire Incident, but we’ll get back to that in a moment.

Onions aren’t the only things that can bring tears to my eyes.

For the record, I can tell you from experience that if you accidentally rub your eyes after handling an onion, you’re in for a world of burning inferno waterworks.

Kitchen gadgets terrify me.

On the rare occasions I wander into those kitchen stores at the mall out of morbid curiosity, I can’t figure out what most of those gadgets even are, let alone what purpose they could possibly serve.

Cookie cutters are fairly self-explanatory, but all of that other stuff?

Not so much.

Some of these bizarre looking items look like they belong in a science lab.

Butter churners look downright dangerous.

Nutmeg mill, anyone?

Banana slicer?

Butter curler?

Wow.

There’s something for everyone.

And yet, it’s all so useless to me.

I can slice and dice things just fine.

Oh, and I do excel at making mixed drinks. I’m a natural at that!

Surely, that’s got to count for something.

Speaking of drinks, Baileys is the ultimate utility player in the kitchen.

I’ve used it to transform random ingredients into a work of… well, a real piece of work.

Baileys is a delightful addition to cereal, yogurt, and strawberries.

Voilà!

Instant meal, with a little added bonus.

In my house, we tend to plan our meals based on what’s about to expire.

Oh, the eggs are at their sell by date, the twisty tie for the loaf of bread mysteriously disappeared, and the plums are starting to shrivel?

Guess we just solved the dinner dilemma.

If the produce is getting too soft and the yogurt is a couple of days past the sell by date, it’s definitely smoothie time. It is the ultimate saving grace, the fabulous Waste Not, Want Not approach.

Smoothies are easy, sometimes delicious, occasionally nutritious, and most importantly, a great way to use up all those bananas, blueberries, avocados, and brussel sprouts that are a mere 6 hours away from turning into moldy mush because they’ve been hiding in the ghastly shadows of gallons of milk and apple juice for the past two weeks.

Perhaps the best part about smoothies is that if you’re feeling lazy and think chewing might take more effort than it is worth, all you have to do is gulp it down.

Which may be especially beneficial, depending on the alarming mixture of foods you just dumped into that blender.

On the plus side, you can drink it out of a cocktail cup to make it feel like an extra special treat.

A few more perfectly valid reasons why the kitchen and its gang of appliance and gadget buddies are not my friends:

I once forgot to put the coffee pot under the machine before flipping the switch and wandering out of the room. I returned a few minutes later to the sight of coffee spewing out of the machine, across the counter, and forming a muddy lake that snaked all the way across the kitchen.

There was also that time I reached over to unplug the toaster. It was still hot, and it burned my arm. Yes, I actually got beat up by a toaster.

And I’d once forgotten to coat a pan with oil before pouring the brownie mix in, and ended up eating the brownies all by myself right out of the pan with a fork because it just wouldn’t come out otherwise, and I hate wasting perfectly good food.

The blender also literally blew up on me while making a smoothie. In my defense, it was pretty old.

And my greatest failure in the kitchen (to date) that has clearly set me up for a lifetime of culinary success:

When I was in junior high, I attempted to turn pita bread into pita chips by tossing it into the oven for a few minutes. When I reached in to grab it, it was hotter than hell.

The next thing I knew, the oven mitt went flying into the oven.

It came out engulfed in flames.

Seriously, if that doesn’t’ make my point for needing to stay out of the kitchen, I don’t know what will.

Needless to say, the smoke alarm and I are old buddies.

~Happy Friday, friends! I know there are plenty of people out there who enjoy cooking. Clearly, I am not one of them, and for good reason. But if you happen to also be a culinary misfit,  you’re in good company!~

Take that, Martha Stewart

Take that, Martha Stewart!

(Culinary Mayhem originally appeared on Comically Quirky on 9/03/15)

Unfinished Accomplishments

What do you do all week?

I swear, sometimes I ask myself that very same question.

Where is the time going?

And perhaps more importantly…

What the heck have I accomplished lately?

I’m gonna go with nothing.

Or nothing much, anyway.

Definitely not a whole hell of a lot, from the look of things.

I’m sure laundry and emptying the dishwasher technically count as something.

And with a to do list a mile long, surely I’m not lacking for things to do.

Yet, it seems that for every one thing I manage to cross off the list, I’m instantly having to add 10 more things.

It’s like being a hamster running circles on a wheel that never stops.

(Is this why people sometimes refer to life as a rat race? Interesting…)

On days like today, there is little to show for it.

Let’s see.

Today, I…

Fed the kids breakfast.

Fed the dog.

Brought the boys to school.

Walked the dog.

Worried incessantly.

Did multiple loads of laundry.

Emptied and filled the dishwasher.

Vacuumed.

Wandered.

Picked the boys up from school.

At least, I think I did…

Did I?

Where are those boys?

I haven’t heard a peep out of them in a while, and that’s never a good thing.

Hmmm.

Oh, well.

But truly, I don’t sit at home shoveling Bon Bons down my throat like a glutton while watching soap operas when the kids are at school.

For one thing, I don’t have the attention span to watch a soap opera.

Or anything else, for that matter.

I typically have to get up and do something.

Like dust off the TV or pull out the vacuum…

I’m telling ya, my ability to multitask has reached new levels.

Did you know it’s entirely possible to eat breakfast while pushing the vacuum around the house?

Yeah, well.

I never said it was a particularly good idea.

Some people have to go to the gym to stay fit.

But I get all the physical activity I can safely handle by pushing the vacuum around while balancing stuff while also trying not to choke to death.

I think I’m on to something here.

Some days, I drink my green smoothie out of a cocktail glass.

Because, why not?

By my calculations, I spend roughly three hours a day worrying about everything that is, and everything that can, go wrong.

Such an impressive use of time, I know.

My mind doesn’t merely wander.

It full-out gallops across intersection after intersection of green lights with not a single red light in sight.

I wander around the house, trying to remember what I had set out to do in the first place.

So then I wander around the neighborhood in hopes of clearing my head.

But curiosity wins and I start wandering into new construction homes within my development.

On the way back, I marvel at why the flag is at half-staff, and resolve to Google it when I get home.

And then I get back home and start to worry about everything that needs to get done around the house…

From touching up paint to dusting the base boards to dealing with the backed up dryer vent.

So I become overwhelmed as all these thoughts swirl through my head.

Then before I know it, it’s time to pick the kids up from school.

And I still haven’t managed to eat lunch.

Did I mention I’m still in my pajamas two minutes before I have to head out?

I cram a protein bar down my throat as I’m driving.

So what if my time management skills aren’t looking too hot at the moment?

Some days, I manage to get an entire week’s worth of things accomplished.

Go figure.

A little laundry, a little cleaning, a little writing…

And a whole lotta worrying.

About the state of the world.

About if I’ve somehow been screwing up my kids all along.

About the commotion of upcoming holidays.

That’s right.

Let’s just add the chaos of Christmas to the mix, too, shall we?

Because I might become bored otherwise.

It’s the season…

For what, exactly?

Migraines?

Ulcers?

Some days I start off by making a healthy green alkaline smoothie…

And end the day with a shot of Baileys.

Is it so wrong I’m secretly kinda sorta okay with everyone in my family landing on the naughty list to alleviate some of the stress?

I think I might have to accidentally delete the to do list on my phone.

I’d be okay with that.

Oops.

Too bad, so not sad.

So what is it that I do all day?

I swear, sometimes I just don’t even know.

~Happy Friday, friends! Hope you’ve all had a great week, and that you’ve managed to accomplish…well, more than I’ve managed to accomplish. Have a terrific weekend!~

Pretty sure this right here counts as a fairly significant accomplishment...

Pretty sure this right here counts as a fairly significant accomplishment…

The Half-Baked Eruption

So, I baked a cake the other day…

For the love of God, people!

Surely, the alarms in your head must be going off by now!

I am The Undomestic Goddess, after all.

(If you’re not familiar with the circumstances that earned me this title, my Culinary Mayhem post is a must-read in order to fully appreciate the implication here.)

Anyway, turns out baking a birthday cake first thing on a Monday morning with my eyes half-closed, before even eating breakfast…

Not such a hot idea.

With a potent combination of dazzling creativity mixed with equal part nonexistent domestic ability, my good intentions were bound to go right down the toilet.

Don’t get me wrong. I do bake cakes twice a year, every year for my boys’ birthdays.

And they usually come out decently enough (read: cute and edible).

But this time around was different.

Somehow, the cake had come out oddly misshapen.

It resembled a volcano-shaped monstrosity, actually.

And the icing was a tad bit too thin, spewing off the top and down the sides of the volcano-cake like white lava.

So I made yet another, thicker batch of sugary icing and heaped it on top of the volcanic mess.

Then I lovingly slapped eight adorable little Despicable Me gummy Minions onto the fifty layers of icing in a visually appealing pattern.

But then disaster struck.

The Minions immediately started sinking into the volcanic ashes icing.

Seriously, they were going under faster than an octopus in a straightjacket.

I had to rescue them!

Left with little choice, I quickly grasped and yanked them up and away from impending doom before it was too late.

Sadly, I must’ve accidentally pinched off a few of their smiling faces during my rescue mission.

How fitting.

A tiny little Minion leg had been lost along the way, too.

I frantically glanced around the kitchen for anything- and I mean anything– to help remedy this disaster.

Plastic forks, chewable vitamin c wafers, gum wrappers…

Eventually, I saved their lives by propping them up with mini flotation devices made out of chocolate wafers, broken into Minion-sized bits and pieces.

And just like that, the cake was salvaged.

Well, mostly.

Yeah, okay. So the frosting tasted like the equivalent of six bags of sugar, and the cake was a wee bit lopsided.

Not the end of the world.

Oh, and I also ended up having to draw faces back on a couple of the Minions.

But ultimately, the cake (and the house) did not blow up.

And people willingly ate it.

Hell, some even came back for seconds.

Go figure.

All in all, the funky cake still managed to look (marginally) better than the aftermath of our Minion piñata beat down.

And that certainly has to count for something.

It’s probably hard to tell, but this mangled mess of Minion is the piñata we beat the crap out of, not the disastrous cake I had made.

It’s probably hard to tell, but this mangled mess of Minion is the piñata we beat the crap out of, not the disastrous cake I had made.