monkeymom's Diaryland Diary

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In which I have food issues.

OMG it was a long, long, day. I usually go right to bed when I get home from work in the morning, but RA needed me to follow her to a small town 30 miles North of here so she could leave her car there to have some bodywork done, so I followed her up there, feeling v. grumpy, and then she kindly drove on the way home. She dropped me off at my house, where I went right to bed and slept all day - well, until 2:30.

When I got up, I found a note on the counter from Kim, reminding me that she would be staying after school for the harp chair challenge (in which she kicked harp ass, thankyou), and on the bottom of that note, there was a note from Rachel that said she had raided our cupboards for ingredients and was making spaghetti at her place, if I wanted to stop by for some later. Er...umm...

Yeah, here's the thing; I don't like to eat spaghetti made by people other than myself. They use regular spaghetti noodles, usually overcooked, they make the sauce too thick, they make it too sweet, or too flavorless, or too salty...it's always something. I'm not able to eat lasagna made by other people either. Except that I do. When I am faced with spaghetti or lasagna in a social situation, I will eat it and pretend to be enthusiastic, and most of the time it is fine. I just have a hard time bringing myself to try it. I know, it's dumb.

So I went with RA to pick up Kim after the harp test, then mailed a package to Scott containing socks and his social security card, and finally we stopped by the building where Rachel and Cynthia live in their respective apartments. RA went to Cynthia's and I went upstairs to Rachel's, where she offered me some spaghetti, but I had already eaten, so I took a container of it home for Rich, who will eat anything. I didn't mention that I didn't want to eat any of it, but Rachel must have figured it out, because later when she told me she can't go to Michigan next weekend to attend a wedding reception, she said I could take her picture and show it to people and I said yes and I would tell them she is brilliant and training for a triathlon and getting a master's degree in nursing, and Rachel said I could show the picture and say, "This is my daughter and she makes spaghetti but I won't eat it because I have issues!" So apparently I am not fooling her one bit by saying I am too full to eat anything more.

Later we were talking about our lessened appetites for spaghetti since we visited the olds in Omaha and they fed us TOO MUCH spaghetti and we couldn't sleep from the pain of our overstuffed stomachs. Ugh, it's true, I don't even like to think about spaghetti now.

We went on the two-mile walk tonight and while we were out walking, the subject of Asshat arose, and for a minute I got so angry just talking about him that I pulled my phone out of my pocket and punched his number on the contact list (under A for Asshat) and let it ring twice before I thought it would be both pointless and foolish to talk to him, since really I am glad that they aren't getting married and that Rachel is doing so well with the situation, so I hung up. Rachel just laughed and said he doesn't answer his phone when I call anymore (oh really? that is an interesting notion) and then her phone started to ring and she looked at it and saw it was him and silenced it. Hah! I guess that showed him! Take that, Assbeagle! So then I deleted his number from my phone, as a grownup should do.

In other news, I don't like any of my pets today. The dog? Too needy and she only cares about Rich. The cats? Patsy - horked up a hairball on the stairs and tried to escape when I was bringing in groceries. Zorro - pooped in the downstairs bathtub just in time for me to discover it when I was cleaning up after Patsy. Chester - well, he's a clingy little pest, but he does his declawed best to kick the dog's butt whenever the dog gets too close, so you've gotta respect that.

Knitting report: