OH, WHERE DO I START?

I survived another Labor Day weekend and when I say, "survived" I don't mean that I partied like it was 1999.  I mean I got through another weekend of Kitchen Remodeling Fun.

On Saturday, TheManTheMyth sanded the new ceiling and because it tends to be a bit messy, which is a HUGE understatement, he recommended that it would probably be a good idea for everyone to not be home while he does this.  I believe his exact words were, "You guys need to get the hell out of here."

Subtle yet to the point.

So Thing 2 and I headed over to sister Bippy's house and hung out for a couple of hours.  Thing 1 was out with Someone and Gracie Lou was hiding under the bed because she got a spanking from her Daddy for peeing on the floor for the 3rd night in a row.

And then Thing 1 informs me via text that he's volunteered to dog sit a dog that his friend is dog sitting for someone else but because she had a soccer game out of town, a back-up dog sitter was needed.  He swore this dog wouldn't be any trouble and he'd keep it in his room and he would be returned in the morning.


And I'm all, "Kevin.  No.  Our house is torn apart, it's a mess, Gracie is being all weird and the last thing we need is to have another dog around."  And I figured that was that.

Several hours later, I deem it safe to return home and we pretty much walked into a Winter Wonderland.  Every single surface was covered in a thick layer of fine white dust despite the plastic sheeting curtains everywhere to prevent this sort of thing.  It so didn't work.

I spent hours vacuuming floors, walls, surfaces, furniture, ceilings and it still looks and feels as if someone broke open a bag of flour and swung it around in a circle.

Then I hear Thing 1 call to me from his room.  I open the door and, well, I fell in love with the cutest, sweetest little dog:

 Oh, he was the most precious little boy.  He was so well-behaved, unlike our own Gracie Lou, and gentle and HOUSEBROKEN and happy-go-lucky and I just adored him.


Gracie Lou, however, did not think little Luke was all that and a bag of chips and showed her displeasure over the fact that we allowed another dog in the house by leaving a nice steaming pile on the floor.  And then she hid under the bed and sulked for the remainder of Luke's visit.


Gracie Lou might be a sweet and loving girl but Girlfriend has more issues than People Magazine.

Moving along.

During this remodeling, cooking has been a major issue.  We're all so sick of having take-out and/or microwave meals.  So yesterday I decided I was going to make a Crock-pot pot roast for dinner.  I've done this before and it always came out perfect.  

But because my 22 year old Crock Pot is pretty small, I decide to borrow my sister's much larger one with the removable crock.

So I head to the store and buy a nice chuck roast, some potatoes and the rest of the ingredients and I throw everything in the crock, plug it in out on the patio (due to a lack of working outlets in the kitchen) and go back to my endless vacuuming.

About 15 minutes later, I ask TheManTheMyth if he smells something burning, like an electrical fire.  Or like someone is welding some metal nearby.  He nods and we start looking for the source.

It's the Crock-pot.

But nothing seems to be amiss, it's not sparking or smoking and the burning metal smell eventually goes away so we continue to go about our business and for the rest of the day, the wonderful smell of pot roast fills the air. 

It's now dinner time and I get ready to dish up some delicious pot roast with potatoes and mushrooms and gravy and I spear the hunk of meat and the fork bounces back.

And I'm all, "Uh, what the heck?"  and I try to stab the meat again and again, the fork bounces back.

I get the meat out of the crock and onto a cutting board and instead of fall-apart tender meat, I'm looking at a large hunk of shoe leather. And it was a funny charcoal color.  And the potatoes that were still uncooked despite being added to the pot at the same time as the meat.

I'm staring at this massive meal FAIL and I want to cry because I'm so sick of not being able to have a decent meal and TheManTheMyth says, "I guess we're having pizza for dinner.  Again."


But wait!  It gets better!


While we're eating our pizza (again), I ask him what is wrong with the barbecue.  And do you know what he said?  Do you?


He says, "Nothing is wrong with the barbecue; it works just fine."


Exsqueeze me?


Baking powder?

And I yell, "THEN WHY DID YOU TELL ME THE BARBECUE WASN'T WORKING?????"

And he says, "When did I say this?" and we go back and forth and he insists that he never said the barbecue wasn't working and  I ask him why, when every single night I ask "what do you want for dinner" did he not once say, "Go get a couple of steaks and we'll barbecue" instead of having yet more fast food?


And his reply was, "I dunno."


All this time, we could have been grilling steaks, chops, sausages, chicken, fish, vegetables but nooooooooooo, we've been eating crap instead.


The only reason he's not dead is because I don't want to be stuck with an unfinished kitchen.


So now the big question is, "What's for dinner tonight?"