It’s nine thousand degrees in Portland right now, which means that there is somewhat more cranky than usual in the Cranky household.
103Â°F | 66Â°F
I don’t deal well with the heat, and apparently Happy Fun Baby has inherited this. Do you remember the story August Heat? With the large man and the chisel and the tombstone and the sweating? I’m not that bad, but I empathize.
So, yeah. Hot. And nothing takes the edge off a sweltering day like a big crock pot of beef stew! Seriously, I don’t know what I’m thinking with that one, except that it’s what we have and our temporary but extreme poverty means making do. On a related note: I hate being poor. Hate hate hate. Things are going to be tight until we finish paying back the moving expenses, which won’t take too much longer…but in the meantime we have, like, $20 to our names.
Whenever money gets scarce my Po’ White Trash gene begins thumping and I start craving food. All sorts of food. In large amounts. This goes a long way toward explaining my caloric shame spiral of the last couple of days, brought to you by The Daily Plate. Remember, I’m only supposed to be eating 1900 calories a day if I want to burn a pound a week. Calorie breakdown:
Thursday – 1805
Friday – 1749
Saturday – 1990
Sunday – 2519.
2519? The hell? I’m going to be the size of a truck if I keep eating like that! Granted, there was some exercise in there, but not nearly enough. Sigh.
To distract me from all that, I’ve been scouring the web for new exciting things. Want to know what’s not exciting? JK Rowling announcing the death of two more Potter characters.
Children’s author J.K. Rowling has revealed that at least two characters will die in the seventh and final installment of her bestselling Harry Potter series, but was careful not to say who.
Why does she do this? It’s like she’s begging for someone to break into her super-sekrit hidden safe and hold her manuscript for ransom. I don’t want to know that people are going to die. I spent all of – what was it, book 5? – trying to find clues about who was going to bite it in that one, and the plot took a backseat to my (fruitless) sleuthing. It’s going to be a surprise anyway, right? I’d rather be completely surprised than half-assedly “prepared.”
Happy Fun Baby is kvetching to a background of Oobi (He’s Oobi, Oobi Oobi Oobi Oobi Oooo-bi). Perhaps he would like to share a juice pop with his mama.
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