Stairs.

My legs are screaming from bootcamp today.

I'm waiting on an Amazon package and because I was an IDIOT and made my office in the basement, I have taken the sprint of death through a sea of spilled legos and up the stairs three times for nothing. Cardio is a bitch with a sense of humor.

Also, because I am a piss-poor planner, I made it all the way downstairs with everything I needed for the afternoon in tow, EXCEPT for my filled water bottle. And because I made a self-commitment to drink 91 ounces of water a day, I felt tremendous guilt leaving it behind.

Back up the stairs. This is time number 4, in case you have forgotten.

My PERSONAL favorite was when I had to pee. (See above, I'm drinking 91 ounces of water, my eyeballs are practically floating.) Now, I'm sore and in no position to rush anywhere at the moment. So imagine my reaction when I went into my bathroom to see that Miles had unrolled all of the remaining toilet paper like a freaking cat and stuffed it into the dirty trash can.

It was then, and only then, that I remembered I kept extra toilet paper upstairs in my linen closet...on the third floor. I'm telling you people, decisions were ALMOST made. But I made my fifth and sixth treks up the stairs, fetched the toilet paper and made it safely back down to my office.

I'm not going to lie though, the thought of sitting on my fat ass and sliding down the stairs crossed my mind on more than one occasion. 

Ashley "Breaks Sinks" Bacon

I break things. I would compare it to people looking into Medusa’s eyes…I look at things and they break. I also have this effect on plant-life…I think about growing it, and it choses suicide rather than the life of starvation I would inevitably give it.

Regardless, it is just in my DNA to break things. Luckily my husband is handy and he is typically there to fix whatever it is I have touched and/or thought about touching. 

So when he went to the store to buy me a lovely warm blanket that I had asked for because I have been feeling under the weather, I thought I would be awesome and do the dishes. 

Wrong.

I am not really sure why he was so surprised to walk into the kitchen and see that I had broken the sink by putting an entire pot of leftover cabbage down the garbage disposal. So contrary to what this particular blog post might imply, I am very smart and quite handy…however, my thought process was simple.

Soupy leftover cabbage + Trash = Smelly drippy trash

Soupy leftover cabbage + garbage disposal = Chopped up liquid cabbage that flows down the drain and doesn’t stink up my house.

Simple. However – my hubs did not agree with this thought process and after several swear words, throwing of kitchen items out of the way of the draining cabbage-water and half a gallon of Drain-O the sink appears to be fixed.

Although, when I asked him if I could drain my pasta for dinner he politely told me no, and I had to drain it in the bathtub. No biggie. 

The best part of this particular genetic-flaw that I possess are the nick-names that come along with it…I’ve earned quite a few, some that stick around for a while and some that pop and fizzle. Tonight’s nickname will definitely go down in the history books. 

As I was apologizing for causing the sink a slow and painful death-by-cabbage, Hubs just smiled and said, “It’s ok…It’s just what you do. It’s your middle name… ‘Ashley-Breaks Sinks-Bacon’.” Then he said that this incident caused me to lose my married name. Eh, it happens.

So basically I asked if that could be my mafia name, smiled and all was forgiven…and my sink gets to live another day.

Procrastination

I will blog...I will blog...I will blog...


Tomorrow.


Whatever, don't judge me. :)