More Cofee, Fewer Cups....

I was congratulated on a job well done today, a job I didn't even sign up for, but because of the wonderful, caring, and coffee crazed person I am, I decided to do.

I went on the dreaded coffee run for work. (The congratulating came from a random stranger outside Tim Horton's, who said: "Whoa. I'd sooooo drop those ALL. You're amazing. Good work." This said as coffee poured down the front of my pretty meeting pants, and threatened to splash up into my pretty meeting make-up-ed face.)

Fifteen zillion cups of coffee, and only two hands with which to carry them.

Next time, I'm walking in to Tim's with a five gallon water pail, the type we use for the horses that has a heater in it to keep the water from freezing, and telling them to fill that up.

Because seriously, there is nothing WORSE than carrying umpteen cups of coffee to your car.

And there is nothing BETTER than five piping hot gallons of coffee.

Except for maybe the horse slobber.

There is No Peace...

I was talking to Mal today, about her plans for the future, and much to my chagrin, she mentioned moving back home to her parents. Her parents live over eight hours away.

I tried my best to sound like I thought it was a good idea, like, Oh, Yeah! Your parents! Yeah, if moving back in with them would be better, then, like, that would be so much BETTER!

Mal could sense the fake-ness in my voice, even though I was sincere in saying that if she wanted to move back to her parents, then surely I shouldn't be the one to try and keep her here. Because really, I want to hog up all the Mal time, and tie her up and keep her locked upstairs in my Clifford-accented bedroom so that I could ply her with second hand smoke and slightly inebriated jokes about the modern making of an honest woman.

While I was trying to have this conversation, the Precious Boy and one of the dogs were shrieking and barking and rumbling. And I couldn't hear her response because of the cacophony behind me, but I know that somewhere in there, I heard the word "Crazy."

And I said: "What?"

And she said: Crazy! Moving back in with the crazy family. I don't know if I could do it. Like, look what happened to you!

And I was all like: HEY! What happened to me?

And she was all like: Crazy happened to you, my dear.

So I said: How so?

And she said: Dogs. Dogs and small children and construction and voices. Lots, and lots of voices. And pounding and drilling and music and television. I mean, like, the environment is just so... crazed?

And at first I was a little offended, and said: You're calling my family crazy?

And Mall offered up: Well, not so much crazy. Like, Dude, I love your family. But every time I'm in your house, the environment feels a little... Crazed.

And I said: Ooooooh, crazed. Well, sheesh. You should have just said that, instead of calling us all crazy.

Because, really, being crazy is so much different than being crazed, and if she had just called my family crazy I might have had to sic a herd of wild dogs and small children on her.

Although, in all honesty, its not like I don't do that every chance I get already.

We are quite comfortable with the crazed status we currently have. But if you call us crazy?

Whoooo-wheee.

Cans of whoop-ass. Opened up all over this small town.