This week has been sort of uneventful as far as blogworthy news goes.  Just the regular ol' nap-fighting and baby loving.  I was driving to town to visit some friends at the funeral home and run a few errands this afternoon when the idea of what to write about hit me out of nowhere.  Literally.

Some guy's front bumper met my back bumper......

and my head met the window.

Mayhem met the cops and the fire fighters......

and we both got checked out at the hospital.

My car's a little banged up......

and I've got a goose egg on my gourd,

but everything is fine.

Poor Jimmy Lima.  (That's my car's name.)

Also, although I was at the emergency room, the real emergencies come in on the ambulance 

(obviously) not walk in on their own volition (me) because there was zero urgency or nervous panic like I expected.  We did get the hot doctor though.  ;)

I'm gonna be soooo pretty tomorrow.

Leave Your Socks on the Ceiling, Boots

One of the "duties" of being a blogger is that you read other people's stuff. You subscribe, you comment. You wish.

Mostly, for some reason, I read blogs about people that have kids or are having kids or want kids. Not that I'm having kids, but I might one day and I'd like to know what people are experiencing with their kids. I subscribe to photography, gardening, and cooking blogs- all of these things I want to be better at. Recently, I've become a fan of the home management/organizing and the "make your whole house pretty" blogs.

That's where the "you wish" comes in. I wish I had a beautiful house filled with beautiful things and a beautiful garden outback. So I aspire. I set out to make my house the cleanest on the block with everything in its place and nothing out of place, fussing at my husband to pick up his socks and throw his used floss away. I plan to toil in my yard raking, burning, planting, and weeding until it is perfect.

I came home from work yesterday with an itch to rake my whole acre yard into one big pile before dark. To make a long story very short, I didn't wear gloves and gave myself a blister and three splinters, one of which hurts so bad it can't be described nicely. My finger is red, swollen, and angry. Much pain.

I'm laid up today. I can't wash dishes, can't fold clothes, I barely washed my own hair and forced myself to wash both dogs, one of which appreciated her washing so much she's wearing dirt on her nose right now! After sitting around all day going stir-crazy I really lost my cool with my bum finger after Boots left for work. I wrote in my notebook, thought about paying bills, walked circles in the house.

Thoroughly aggravated, I set fire to a barrel of sticks in the backyard and then smothered it with leaves. It took the flames a while to grow back and sitting there waiting, I had an ephipany.

I am in such a hurry to fix my house and yard, make everything beautiful! I want everything done yesterday, but there's never enough time. Why can't I be like that fire and take my time? What does it matter that I don't have fresh paint and my carpet is old? Who cares that I don't have a magazine-worthy garden? Nobody comes to visit us anyways so why can't I burn it up slowly, piece by piece?

I Forgot Your Birthday......

So......

Last week was Eating Crow Pie's birthday (Yay! One year in operation!) and I missed it.

(I didn't do a "Happy Birthday Blog" post, haven't I violated some sort of bloggy rule?!)

In my defense, I had intentions, but when I got home I was greeted with an enormous poopy stinky pee mess that had to have my immediate attention.

Lemme tell ya, its not going to be a good night when you come home to poop, no it is not.

I suppose I was supposed to do a birthday celebration giveaway, but with the mood I was in after all that disaster cleaning it would have been was a Ziplock bag of poop shipped to you the next day.

You're welcome.

By way of forgetting to post, I also forgot to do my 100 Days of Marriage post.

Remember when I posted about my last 100 Single Days?

I accomplished #1 & 2, still working on #3 & 4, #5 is 1/2 complete I'd say, and of course, #6 is done.

You know, I do not miss that wedding planning at all, at all I tell you!

Since I'm laying it all out today, have you been remembering that I'm forgetting to finish my story of how I met Boots?

I've had you in suspense for Part 2 nearly three months now!

I'll get to it I promise.

Wouldn't it be cool if I posted that for V-day?

Yeah, that's what I'll do.

I, Rachel, curator of Eating Crow Pie, so avow to finish Part 2 of meeting Mr. Boots and post it on the fourteenth of February in honor of the love events of the day even though I do not adore the blessed commercialized love day!

(February- I cannot pronounce that word correc-it-ally.

Is it "Feb-ROO-ary" or "Feb-YOU-ary"?)

Here lately, I've been paying more attention to fashion in the world around me.

You can thank Kendi.

Hear I go, trying to be all fashion-y.

Shirt: Target $10

Pants: Target $24.99

I thought this was going to be a fashion win but it was a fashion fail.

I just felt frumpy.

Not as cute on me as it was in my head.

Oh, well......try, try again, right?

I know you're confused now.

You're probably all, "Why is she standing on the toilet?" or maybe, "Why is her counter so cluttered?" or "This is a fashion blog now?"

#1: there is no full length mirror in my house.

Yet.

There will be after Boots and I finish our bedroom; we're planning on mirrored closet doors.

Yay!

#2: I was in a hurry!

No time to clean since I had to sneak this picture without Boots seeing me and making fun of me.

#3: no.

I don't know what I am.

One day this is a comedy blog, the next day its a romantic story telling blog.

Then its a sad, gripey blog.

Some days it a cooking blog, a photography blog, and now I'm posting my clothes!

Its a hodge-podge blog--I'll write about anything!

Here's looking at you kid, Happy Birthday!

Like a Rabbit

**Disclaimer: If reading rambling pointless posts isn't your thing, perhaps you should skip this one today.**

*If you missed the recipe links, here's the one for the eggs and the bread.

*Monday morning I woke up with a headache and didn't shake it off until Tuesday night.
I took a whole bunch of pills but, nothing helped.
I thought I really was dying when I put my contacts in the wrong eyes and couldn't see straight yesterday morning.

*Boots had a wee bit of a motoring accident in his work vehicle Monday.
He's ok but, the corner of his eye is black from his head hitting the seat belt holder thing.
The doctors checked his head out real good and so far he seems fine.

*This morning I was listening to the radio on my way to work and Toby Keith's new song "Bullets in the Gun" came on.
(I know some of you are positively stroking out right now about the fact that I listen to country music but, I can't help it, I've listened to it all my life.
Let a good Sawyer Brown song start playing and I'm six years old riding in the backseat of my mama's blue yacht-length Crown Victoria again.)
The song is pretty much a rhyming crime spree.
When he said, "Never see it comin’, just hits you by surprise," I thought, "Is that how so many people become murderers?"
Do most murderers just snap under the pressure of whatever duress they've been subjected to and just go on a rampage?
I'm not trying to justify murdering or anything like that, I'm just telling you how my mind runs.
All this from a song.

*Today's my Friday.
I'm looking forward to a long nap when I get off work.

*I want to walk the four mile loop with Boots again.
Here's to getting him motivated!

We Interrupt Your Regularly Scheduled Program!

The Crime Scene

The Weapon

The Bullet Shrapnel Projectile

(Let me clarify that the nail has pink paint on the end of it, not blood.)

The Wound

Folks, this is what happens when you leave your nail guns unattended and accounted for.

Take extra precautions with your men this week as they are sure to be suffering from Fall Fever and likely to injure themselves doing something manly.

We must be vigilant!

If you do anything in life for very long at all, mistakes and accidents are bound to happen.

When flames come knockin' at your oven door......

......it's best to just answer them quickly.

Dear Boots,
Next time you want to send flowers, don't.
Send a fire extinguisher.
Love, Rachel