tragic lunch accident

I eat sandwiches for lunch. We have a fridge at work, so I can buy supplies for a week at the grocery store, and then eat sandwiches all week. Saves money. Today, that plan didn’t work out to well.

In the past I’ve pointed the little bit of engineering to make a plastic grocery bag into a bicycle pannier. Well today I did the same, only I didn’t think it through much and slung the bag too low. About 20 yards from work I went over a speed bump, and well, the best way to describe it is to say that my bike ate my lunch. “FBBTTBTBT!!” came from my bike, and I looked back to see bread shrapnel all over the road. I burst into laughter loud enough to startle the guy blowing leaves on the sidewalk.

deadbread490

Ther two crappy things about this:
1) The obvious: That’s a lot of wasted bread
2) The less obvious: The salvageable slices, what do you do with them?

So for lunch I took the 5 edible pieces, and I made them into 2 and a half grilled cheese sandwiches. A satisfying meal, but not whole-loaf-of-bread satisfying.

What can we learn from this? I don’t know really. But honestly I’ll never look at Violet the same way again.

haHA!

Looks like my song works!

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braggadocio – that’s a cool word

Our mall has a big padded playground full of climbable structures made out of some sort of hardish padding. The only way kids get hurt is by running into other kids. Feeling challenged, Noah decided to FIND a way to hurt himself.

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You’ll have to forgive the quality, it’s from a cellphone. And while you may think you heard me encouraging him, that’s just the sound of kids in the background. I would never encourage that kind of reckless behavior. And yes, the video cuts off as he’s climbing up for another go.

Noah has taken to eating his shampoo. We use this hippy-ish Burt’s Bees baby shampoo that’s made from honey, so we figured maybe it tastes good or something. Teresa dabbed some on her finger, gave it a lick, and now I get to keep forever the wonderful memory of her face turning from trusting curiosity to disgusted horror.

“Oh, oh no. It tastes just like shampoo. What is wrong with him?”

What indeed. He’ll eat it off his just-washed fingers likes he knows it’s wrong. He’ll lick his fingers with furious speed, getting as much as he can before we can manage to splash a wave of water on him, washing away his forbidden dessert.

On the subject of devilish treats, tonight when I asked him what he wanted for dinner, he lower his head, put on a sheepish/sinister (is that even possible?) grin, and looked up at me, “Cookies?” You can see his mind working. “One of these days…one of these days it will work.”

I’ve written before about my lack in inborn home maintenance ability. Today it was put to the test when I made myself a bowl of cereal, only to take the first bite and be appalled with the taste of luke-warm milk. The fridge is cold, but apparently not cold enough. Both Teresa and I had gotten some indicators over the last couple of days, but neither of us thought enough about it to mention it to the other. Go communication.

I started looking up what could be causing this, and a nearly fatal mixture of bravado, self confidence, and YouTube how-to videos ended with me taking apart a fridge before I knew what to look for. Well, I knew what to look for, but I was trying to solve a problem I didn’t have. I spent an hour or so calling up appliance repair places looking for a replacement for the perfectly good part that was in my hands. But hey, that narrows down one thing that needs to be fixed right? I’m sure Noah was impressed watching his father use a hair dryer on the back of the freezer. One day this half-faded memory will convince him that his father was handy.

So I put the whole thing back together, and reloaded the freezer, and hoped everything in the fridge stayed cold enough to not kill us tomorrow. Hope with me that my neighbor doesn’t start to wonder how long I’m keeping their cooler. I’m going to go back in tomorrow, this time test the defrost timer, and if that’s working, then I’ll check the defrost thermometer. I hope it’s one of those things, cause if it ain’t, then I’m lost and I’ll have to deal with the stress of my father-in-law tearing it apart when he visits next week. Nothing against Greg, he’s a good guy, but few things sting the man-ego like having to relinquish a tool to your dad-in-law. Handing over a screw driver is more than, “I don’t know how to do this.” Oh no, when it’s your father-in-law, it’s “I don’t know how to do this. I also don’t know how to raise your grandson. I don’t know how to treat your daughter, and I moved her 8 hours away from you for no reason.” Yeah, that’s a pretty heavy screwdriver. All the more reason to get this done right.

Wish me luck.

seriously…we’re all gonna die

tonight i watched “super size me.” you may have heard of this movie/documentary a few months ago when it first came out in theatres. soon after followed the onslaught of “we’re gonna get you healthy” advertising from mcdonalds. well, i must say that you should give it a gander. while i know better than to take it all as truth, cause as we’ve seen lately, documentaries can be a whole bunch of poo, and even when it is all real, compacting it all in an hour and half creates the idea that it’s a bigger part of life than it really is. and while i don’t want to say that i’m a changed man, cause i’m kinda the king of broken resolutions, it’s certianly changed the way i think about eating. i think my biggest problem is i really like what i call “hearty” meals. things that you can take big bites out of, and have to chew, and you can feel it hit your stomach. things that when you’re done, you know you’ve eaten. the problem comes with the fact that when i visualize these foods, it’s all burgers, or hot dogs, or breakfast skillets made of nothing but onions, hashbrowns, and three kinds of dead pig. that’s right…three. cause two kinds of dead pig is for pansies.

my month on the blockbuster “we can beat netflix” deal is over, and yeah, we’re quiting, and signing up for netflix. plain and simple, one month, and we’ve watched most of the movies we want to see, and havn’t gotten to rent many that we wanted to see. (so to you, the guy who’s had “day of the dead” for a month…you suck) and here you see one of the things that comes with being married. i now sound all pretentious, like i’m refering to myself in the third person when i say “we.” but no, i am referring to the entity that is “the bullards.” so don’t think that this website has gone to my head, cause i gaurentee you, one glance at the stats, and my self-worth takes a nice dive. something that only a sweet kiss some my sexy co-host can cure. so anyways, you should all rent this movie, and watch the extras, simply to know that after we all die from all the nuclear bombs the 80’s action movies told us about, the only things to survive will be cockroachs. and they will feed entirely on mcdonalds french fires.