Gonna Find My Baby, Gonna Hold Him Tight

While we were vacationing, Mr. Anderson and I got walked in on during a session of Afternoon Delight by our cabin steward. What happened next is still up for debate, as we have differing versions of a singular outcome, which was how exactly Mr. Anderson ended up flat on the floor wedged between the bed and the balcony doors. Perhaps I adopted Herculean Strength as Mr. A. contends, or he catapulted himself off of me and landed heads-up on the floor as I recall the goings-on, but one way or the other, there he lay (laid??) as our heavily-accented stateroom man backed quickly out of the door, never to enter again at 2 p.m.

He did, however, greet us with long and uncomfortable laughter each time we ran into him.

Quick Shot

Belize.

And now, back to our regularly scheduled program.

Special Orders Don't Upset Us

Yes, I hear you, you can stop your requests!! "What requests??" you mumble to yourself whilst scratching the side of your head. Well, while they may not have been "official requests," I'm sure you've been thinkin', "I wonder just what in the heck the Anderwin's keep in their fridge?" Or, the Baldwerson's - whatever you choose to call the couple who has a thoughtful discussion on the amount of poop in a lifetime. Maybe you just call us "The Weirdo's," which would be difficult to dispute.

Anyway. Where was I? Oh yes! The Fridge. Long workdays are not conducive to home cooked meals. As evidenced by the plethora of Styrofoam containers that are dotting the landscape below. It really had quite an impact on me when I took more than a cursory glance looking for the coffee creamer this morning. Every night we've gone out to eat somewhere, except for the lone night when I worked so late that Kenny crafted a Hamburger Helper dinner for us. The leftovers are located atop the cake pan. Yes, the pan indicated below as "2-week-old puddin' cake." I'm very happy to note that we did not eat an entire cake! But really, I think it's time for it to go.

And then, about a half an hour ago, Kenny wanted to know where we were going for lunch. Well, just name your poison, my friend. You can choose from Italian, Mexican, Hungarian, All-American - the only thing we don't have at hand is leftover Chinese food. There was one stone left unturned apparently.

So for Saturday lunch we cleaned out the fridge. Lunch was a buffet that included cheese enchilada, chicken paprikash, Outlaw ribeye (left over from Lonestar last night), chicken parmesan & pasta, cornbread muffin, baked beans, coleslaw, pulled bbq pork, bbq chicken, hamburger helper, and a can of diet soda that Kenny found in the garage (we don't drink soda much anymore, for the good of our health - do you see the irony here??).

And for the record, how in the hell do we even have dirty dishes in the sink when we never eat at home?? That's a mystery that begs an answer.

This Is My Life.

Scene: A Sunday afternoon conversation, after returning home from shopping at Walmart and BJs for whatnot and cat litter.

Kenny, as we put away our purchases: "How much do you think a person shits in the course of a lifetime?"

After some thoughtful consideration from me, "Oh, a houseful, for sure, if it was all stacked up. Maybe even a football field - YEAH, a football field, stacked up to the goal posts! I'm sure it's at least that much."

Kenny, "Well, just hear me out now, stay with me on this" as he's holding a shoe box in his hand. "A weeks worth of shit, three times a day (yeah, right, like a girl ever poops three times a day, what fantasy land are you living in!), would probably fill this shoebox. Multiply this shoebox by 52 weeks in a year, and then by 80 years - there's NO WAY that would fill up a football field."