Yesterday, just as I finished writing my blog, complaining about how it was Thursday, I did something fantastically stupid.

I like to let my coffee sit on the burner until it's really hot, because if I don't it gets too cold when I add the cream. So I had just poured myself my second cup of coffee and returned to my computer for 15 minutes more of pure zombification when I reached for my coffee cup....

....and promptly let go of it.

My hands do that sometimes. It sucks.

So I spilled the scalding hot goodness all over myself AND my desk AND a little on my keyboard AND my work clothes. Oh, AND the floor AND the wall. Yep, it was everywhere, and I had 15 minutes before I needed to leave for work. Awesome. So I quickly pulled off my clothes, trying to avoid any lasting burns (which I managed, but the skin on my thighs was mighty red all day) and scrubbed the floor and wall. Pretty sure my neighbors got a good look at all my business if they were looking into my windows, but I figure that anyone who takes the chance and decides to look into my house deserves to see what he sees. Ha.

So, floor scrubbed, I turn around to see that the ivory quilt my mom gave me as a wedding present has a huge brown splash o' coffee running down the corner. Crap. So I pull that off of the bed and run (still naked...don't judge) to the kitchen to rinse it in cold water and spray some Shout on it. No time to wash it.

Then, I go back and take a shower and pick out a whole new outfit, which consisted of my favorite shirt and pants (stretchy goodness will always save the day).

Aaaaaand at this point I'm 10 minutes late to work. Fortunately, I had misjudged the time I needed to be there, so it was fine, but holy cow. That sucked.

The rest of the day was outstanding, though. I can't figure out if that was due to the fact that I was wearing really comfortable clothes or just that the morning was so bad it made everything else better by comparison. Oh, well. New Mexican food for dinner tonight, so my day will just fly by.

Mmmmm. Cheesy goodness.

Yep, that. Be jealous.

Thursday is upon us. I should've known it was coming, because Thursday almost always follows Wednesday, and that was yesterday. Ugh. I hate Thursday.

Being more positive doesn't work out so well for me, at least not at 6 in the morning.

I will try to focus on the fact that I learned about snarts last night (thank you, Liz Lemon) and I made one heck of a batch of pear butter (secret spice...can't tell you, as I think I may make one million dollars from it) and I'm selling my homemade shrug thingies like crazy (the ladies love them).

Those are good things, right? Enough to counteract the ugh that I'm walking into, right?

Yeah...going to keep telling myself that.

I have discovered that, rather than being one of those awesome people who don't give a poo about what other people think of them, I am, in fact, the opposite. So much so that I do things to try to make people like me even when I know that this kind of thing won't really make them like me: They'll like the things I do for them, which isn't the same at all.

Or is it?

I think, maybe, yes. Maybe bribery and general ass-kissery is the way to go. Maybe I need to bake everyone's favorite cakes and buy them all ponies and bring a unicorn into work (not going to lie...I would probably be impressed with myself if I could do that) and put up flowers everywhere. And pretend to be interested in things which really actually make me puke. I am going to be so successful if I can actually follow my plan. Everyone will love me and I'll get a raise and strangers will want to be my patrons (hint, hint) and I won't even have to sing at auditions anymore. They'll all just know of my awesomeness and they'll hire me straight away.

Yeah, that's the ticket. Now I just need to get me some niceness. Ugh again. Maybe I'll just stick with my bad attitude. It seems way easier this morning.

Someone posted this sign on Pinterest yesterday that said something about a person saying, "I'm bored," and how it's not really a relevant statement, ever.

Really?

I haven't been bored in ages, but when I was ten, I was bored all of the time. I would love to be bored. I really do not see how people with other people to take care of get anything done, because I am constantly running behind, which makes me crazy.

Or maybe I was already crazy.

Is it only the crazy people who think they're already crazy, or is it non-crazy people who are aware of what crazy is, so they really aren't, but they are aware of how they're teetering on the edge of a big old craziness abyss?

I think maybe that one's me. The one that involves teetering. I loves me some teetering.

Digressed there, a bit. Did I have a point? I don't think so...I have a to-do list today that's about a mile long and I don't see any way I'm going to get all of this crap (yep, most of it's crap) accomplished if I keep sitting at my desk, whining and then writing a blog about it.

I also realize that I haven't had any bodily function stories in ages.

More failure. Ugh. I hope I do something really splendiferous soon, to make up for it. Ha ha ha....that's about as likely as me eating beets for lunch.

It really stinks when life gets in the way of your job and there's nothing you can do about it. For instance, I am having a massive amount of toothache. Yes, it's been going on for a while, and yes, I do work for a dentist so I could've just said something about it, but I was giving it time. I'm convinced that most of my ailments are psychosomatic anyway, so I assumed that my toothache was happening because I'm not in love with that particular line of work right now.

Yeah, it's not that.

Moving on to yesterday, I probably need two root canals (I'm going to the endo guy for a consult, but since doing all the bite test action yesterday, my teeth are on fire...maybe I should call the office and cry for some pain meds...I do mean actually cry...it happens more often than you'd think) and since then, both teeth are non-stop killing me. Seriously. For reals.

Whine whine whine whine whine.

Anyway, I had a rehearsal last night for a paying gig. A really really well-paying gig. And I blew. Big time. It was very very bad. I blamed it on my teeth, but was it really my teeth? I think it was, but it was still embarrassing. I feel that if one is a professional, one's personal life should never, never interfere with a job.

That may be a lump of crap, though. I tried really hard and just failed spectacularly.

Oh, well. At least it was a rehearsal and not a performance. I hope I can get this taken care of before the real thing in a few weeks. 

Ugh. 

I need some ibuprofen.

So I failed. I failed, failed, failed, failed, failed (my husband hates it when I say that, but it's true). I failed at apple butter, which should've been a simple and easy process, except for one thing: I don't have a food mill.

See, I thought a food mill was the same thing as a food processor, because I've never needed one before. It is totally not the same thing, fyi. A food processor looks like this:

While a food mill looks like this:

So, yeah, not the same thing at all. And the silly thing is that I was trying to save time (and I thought it might give it a fuller flavor) to cook the apples with the peels and cores intact. 

Oops. I was very, very wrong.

So I ended up spending three hours processing a batch of apples just to get 2 quarts of pulp (most of that time was spent with me trying to push mushy apple goo through the holes in the bottom of my big plastic strainer while crying...it didn't work at all) and then cooking the pulp for another couple of hours, trying to get it to the right consistency, which didn't happen.

So we now have four jars of apple syrup, which tastes delicious, but is completely liquidy. Crap.

What am I to do? Well, for starters, I'm doing it all over again today, but with pears and a different recipe. I've got my peeler out and I'm all ready to go. It will work. If not, I may have to do something drastic, like purchasing a gallon of a fruit butter and then re-canning it and taking the credit. Yeah. I'd go there.

But I won't have to...I will win...I will. Probably.

The newest crafty craft I'm working on got finished yesterday. By me. Kind of proud. This is it.

In case you can't tell, it's a shrug. I'm not exactly sure what that means, but it's like a jacket that doesn't button. I made it with this fuzzy yarn that's called bouclé. For those of you who don't know, bouclé is French for "pain in the butt." Seriously. I almost quit a few times, but it's definitely the prettiest thing I've ever made. Even my husband thinks so, and that's quite a compliment, because I'm pretty sure he's honest about my crafts. Most of the time.

So, happy Friday. I'm sure I will have started on something new by the end of the day, but since my list of things I want to do is growing larger by the minute, I think I may just be in over my head. Or I may just have absolutely no time to do anything but craftiness until I'm 80, by which time I will no longer give a crap. Huzzah.

After having completed two successful ponchos and two successful pairs of slipper socks, I am now working on a shrug, which I'm guessing is just like a sweater but it doesn't button in the front, and really, if it looks like crap once I get done with it, I'm going to cry. I was going to get it finished yesterday, but then I realized I've fallen way behind on my bagel-making, plus we needed cupcakes for a semi-special occasion, so I did that. So, yeah, it's pretty Martha Stewartly up in here, except that all of my junk is crooked and she's generally much better at doing the evil smile than I am. My Grandma was the master at that smile when I was little, although now that she's not dealing with a house full of screaming kids, she doesn't do the smile.

It's kind of sad, really. It was the kind of smile that said, "Hey, now. You're welcome to keep doing that horrendous activity, but if you choose to do that, there are going to be consequences, including (but not limited to): Spanking, yelling, grounding, public shaming (that was my favorite) and/or any and all forms of work to be used as a punishment, the most likely being cleaning toilets or windows."

Yep, that was all in that smile. You knew you had about a minute before the stuff hit the fan and you were going to be in a world of hurt (not necessarily physical, but, boy, could my grandma give an effective spanking...and I totally deserved it). Martha Stewart has nothing on my grandma. Well, except the fancy cooking part, but I'm pretty sure she doesn't have any screaming children running around, distracting her. That would totally not be allowed.

I need to work on my evil smile.