Pickles & Dimes

My birthday was wonderful. I took the Friday before and the Monday after off from work, because past experience has taught me that Work Near My Birthday = ABSOLUTE CRAP and I wanted to avoid that catastrophe and the accompanying feelings of wanting to stab people with a steak knife.

My forethought was rewarded when about 20 minutes before my Thursday departure and sweet, sweet freedom, my supervisor walked over and said, “Can you come in this weekend?”

The word “NO” never sounded so good.

I spent my time off shopping for clothes that didn’t exist, because I wanted clothes that didn’t feature 70s-inspired hallucinogenic patterns or skinny pant legs that my calves laughed loudly at.

I went bowling with Jason where I had a perfect game going…for three frames. I ended up bowling two games of at least 150, which is strange considering my average is probably more around 80.

I got lots of lovely cards and gifts from family, my favorite being the card from my nearly 93-year-old grandfather, who signed the front of the card, “Grandpa!” complete with the exclamation point. Apparently he either realized what he had done or someone pointed it out to him, because the inside of the card then read:

“Grandpa again!”

Jason surprised me by buying me an iPod, which I had been saving for and have already named Sammy, and even Menards sent me a card with a certificate for a free knife set, complete with a steak knife.

Which I’m going to keep at work.

I’ve got no real reason to post here, except to remind everybody that it is Shauna’s birthday on Saturday. That’s right; St. Patrick’s Day. I loved that when I started dating her that I’d forever remember her birthday. Irish family members commented that THEY will forever remember her birthday. I bet those same family members would be hard pressed to remember any of my past girlfriends’ dates of birth (I bet I’d be hard pressed as well).

I’ve already done my shopping and have made reservations at our favorite high-end “go to” place. No last minute scurrying for me!

Shauna is even turning into me a bit. She has been bugging me all week about what I got her. Maybe it’s because I’ve been taunting her all week that I’ve got her a great gift. Believe me, she is nowhere as bad as I am about begging to find out birthday and Christmas presents early. Like, months early. And I’m nowhere as bad as my father. I proudly get it from him.

Last night, Jason tossed out the possibility of macaroni & cheese (with the addition of cut-up hot dogs) for dinner. And I gleefully said, “You know what we should add? BACON.”

He then cut me to the core and said, “Baby, we can’t put bacon on everything.”

I loved him a little less after that.

I probably should’ve waited longer to make my culinary demand, especially since I just told Jason last weekend, “You know what would make this chili even better? BACON.”

I have a problem, don’t I?

We don’t put bacon on that many items, just my Grandma’s famous Spaghetti with Bacon, my famous Chicken-Bacon Alfredo, our Bacon-Wrapped Chicken, the times Jason and I have Breakfast for Dinner (featuring BACON), our Breakfast Sandwiches (with bacon), and my favorite, Bacony Bacon with a side of BACON!

OK, that last one’s not real, but it should be. Besides, it’s not like I add bacon to everything. Like French toast.

Hmm…you know what would be AWESOME?

P.S. For anyone who’s interested, here’s my Grandma’s famous Spaghetti with Bacon recipe:
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“What the?” I muttered, pawing my way through the downstairs closet. “This can’t be right.”

“What?” Jason asked, as I made my way upstairs to our main coat closet.

“No, no way.”

“WHAT?”

“Please count the number of coats that are yours.”

“OK.”

People, between the two of us, Jason and I inexplicably own 34 jackets. How is this even humanly possible? I mean, all right, most of these “jackets” are hooded sweatshirts we wear outside doing yardwork or while camping, but even taking those out of the equation, we still have about 20.

Winter jackets, leather jackets, brand-new London Fog trench coats (yes, plural) bought for $5 each at a thrift store 8 years ago and never worn, windbreakers, in-between weather jackets, free jackets somehow acquired through paid subscriptions to ESPN magazine and my god, I can’t believe I’m admitting this, Glamour.

There’s nice jackets, grubby jackets, work jackets, jackets we’ve owned for over 10 years and jackets that were just purchased last weekend to replace a jacket that was thrown away after 1) the cat punctured a giant hole in it while on the way to the vet, 2) a jerkwad put his cigarette out on it, and 3) the zipper came apart while stuck exactly in the middle and I had to practically cut myself out of it.

There’s even a NY Yankees jacket loitering in our closet.

Hmm. Maybe I’ll wear that one next time I wrangle Sunny into the car on the way to the vet. I’ll have our collection whittled down in no time.