Monday, Monday. Can't trust that day.

It's Monday... I'm sore.
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My legs hurt from the following... Saturday a.m. yard work, including weeding the whole garden and tilling the corn patch ... Saturday mid-day rock climbing workout ... multiple trips to Home Depot ... Saturday evening 4 mile run. Sunday morning mowing-edging-etc. ... multiple trips to home depot, grocery shopping, etc. ... crouching in the hot tub, cleaning out the dirty water and then ... hours of figuring out why the pump we painfully plumbed into the spa DOESN'T WORK.
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All that, and I think I gained weight.
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A certain rescue dog - the one from last weekend - who ate my door and scratched my walls and jumped on the kitchen counter knocking dishes everywhere and shattering them on the tile.... she also ate my $150 bike seat. I found this out yesterday when I tried to ride said bike while tracking down Tyler on his latest Walkabout.
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Listen... if you ever want to keep a secret... keep you mouth shut. It's amazing how many people who know something I'm not supposed to know keep bringing it up... you tell one person and it might stay private. But the minute three people know, well that's when everyone will know. Seriously, criminals who never get caught are the ones who tell no one.
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I am glad to know that the douche bag who killed and mutilated his swimsuit-model wife and then fled to Canada had the good sense to take himself out. I do love a happy ending.
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The dishes have yet to wash themselves. I know. I know. You give them a good home and what is your payment... they just sit there, dirty, getting more and more disgusting by the day.
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Did you notice that no where in that list (above) of things that I did this weekend, did I mention cooking anything worthwhile, repairing the chewed up doors, washing the windows, cleaning out the shed, organizing the tools, getting my bike rack mounted, putting the boxes I loaned to Dana back in the attic, or cleaning the bathroom? No... because that's the list of things I did not get to.
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The damned dealership again. Apparently only they can fix factory recalls. Well, fine!!!! But why make it so damned difficult. No - mr. jerky service writer - I do not want to have you fix my thermostat at 1.5 hours of shop time... I'll pay my personal mechanic for that. A man I trust. And a man who charges half what you do per hour.
Oh, and BTW, my personal mechanic pulled my stereo for me in not-point-eight seconds...no charge!
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I miss certain things about the way my life used to be... and every time I drive by 35E and 121, I want to turn West. To drive into my tidy sub-division, where all the neighbors treated their lawns and their dogs and cats for fleas, and not have to worry about watering the lawn because the sprinkler system did that for me. I miss being that close to Costco. I miss being that close to Murrell Park. I miss my maid, the pet butler and animal control agents who just put my licensed and tagged dogs back in their yard should I inadvertently have left the gate open.
Now, mind you, I do not miss the Creepublican nature of things. Nor do I miss the freaking holiday parades. And least of all, do I miss the soccer mom's in their Juicy Couture with the French manicured nails and the frosted hair. No... I miss the conveniences, but not the culture of my former suburban home. And at least so far I have not once turned inadvertantly on Sandy Lake Drive and driven West.
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I still need new windows. Nothing has changed on this front. Most days, esp. Mondays, I feel rather like I'll be living in Santa Cruz before said windows get replaced.
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Being all angry and wound up about something - no matter whether that anger and tension is directed at something worthy - makes it really hard to assemble small and intricate pieces. Which is why, the 2 minutes I allowed myself to put my spare bike seat on my bike turned into clsoe to 20.
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And my fork squeaks.
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And the dogs have fleas.
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And right now, it's way past time for bed.