Don't leave me!

Our friends Hugh and Cassie are abandoning us to follow his dream of becoming a doctor, and to escape the shitsack town of Savannah. We're all very happy to see them moving up, but sad to see them moving on (without us).

Yesterday we had their going away party, and we ate and ate and drank and ate and drank. It was perfect. We had fancy hot dogs and burgers. The hot dogs were amazing. Stay tuned for links to the recipes.

Click here to check out some more of the million pictures I took yesterday.

Right now, though, I have to go get ready for the first official Monday Funday. Matty and I are headed to the beach!

Weekend Surprise

I got off of work yesterday at 4:00, and decided that I needed to go to Target and the mall and Publix to buy things I don't need. Three hours passed, and I was about $70 poorer when I returned home. Matt was already at work for the night, and I was slowly unloading groceries and relaxing. I had about a billion things I had planned on doing around the house, but was procrastinating. Instead, I did my usual getting home stuff: talked to the dog, compulsively checked the interwebs, checked the mail.

Our mail comes through a slot in our front door, so when I check the mail I always open the door to make sure that there aren't any packages there. Yesterday when I performed this little ritual there was a package at the door, but not one that had been mailed. It was just an oblong package wrapped in blue paper. No name, no nothing.

My first thought was that it was a bomb, so I squeezed it to make sure that it wasn't a bomb. Because that's what you should do should you suspect that you're handling a bomb--squeeze it. Finally, I got up the nerve to open the package, turning my face away just in case it exploded. But it didn't explode. Here's what it was.


At this point Mitch was pretty excited. He wanted his bone. I had my suspicions about who might have left the bone, but I didn't know for sure. Therefore, I was a bit reluctant to just give the bone to my son. What if an angry neighbor had left it there? What if the bone was poisoned??

Mitch was pretty persistent, though, so I gave it to him. Could you say no to this face?


I also knew that Mitch wouldn't really chew this bone; he would bury it. And immediately after I caved, Mitch took the bone to the door and proceeded to whine. He has needs, you know.

So Mitch was outside burying his bone, and I was in the yard talking to him and taking some pictures. We had been out there for about 5 minutes when I heard a man's voice. He was saying something about my anniversary.

Initially I was startled by the fact that there was a man standing in my carport talking to me. I'm always worried about burglars and murderers coming to the house when Matt isn't here to protect me. But then I realized who the man was. It was my soulmate, Bill.

(Bill is Matt's Godfather Gary's partner. He and I are soulmates, even though he doesn't really think so. We've been soulmates for several years. At our (my and Matt's) wedding, when the part came up about "does anyone have any reason why these two should not be wed?" Bill let out a loud and exaggerated "AHEM." It was awesome, and one of the many reasons that we are soulmates.)

Bill and Gary live in South Florida, and had not told Matt or me that they planned to visit. They had simply learned that we were having a party and that our anniversary was fast approaching, and decided to swing by on their way up north. They had originally come to our house hours before when I should have been home. Oops! My B!

I was completely confused, caught between the feeling that I was seeing a ghost and the fear that I had made plans and completely forgotten them. It started to dawn on me that it was Bill and Gary who had left the bone on the doorstep, not an angry neighbor or domestic terrorist.

For the rest of the night I got to hang out with two of my favorite people on the planet. Matt got off of work early and we all talked and laughed until the wee hours of the morning (in Bill's language, that means midnight). I even convinced them to stay in our guest room instead of getting a hotel room, so I got to play hostess.

What a great Saturday surprise!

Above: Gary the best godfather ever.

Below: Bill the best soulmate ever. He's always scolding me for something.

Another Enemy?

While I was checking out the interwebs this morning, I spotted this little guy right outside the window. His little sucker hand is especially terrifying. And he was looking right at me!!

I believe that he is in league with the frog and the snake, and that he is on a reconnaissance mission. They're planning something. I know it.

Also, maybe I should clean the windows? My father would be ashamed.

M Cubed--Now Providing Counsel!

We're launching a new feature here at M Cubed, an advice column. You submit your dilemma, and we will provide you with insightful, and likely catty, answers. Expect advice from one, two, or all three of us.

And if we can't come up with a good answer for you, we'll consult an expert.

So, let's get started. Email your questions to me.

My Man Obam'

In case you haven't seen it already, check out this video of Obam' kickin' ass and takin' names.

I think we should hire him to come to our house to protect against all of the deadly creatures in our yard.

Peach Cobbler

It's my first official day of summer vacation. What better way to celebrate than with a homemade peach cobbler?

I have taken to following Martha Stewart's recipes lately. I trust her. She's good. Yeah, maybe she's weird and abrasive and a convicted felon, but that woman can cook! Today I tackled her recipe for peach cobbler.

It's amazing--and it's egg-free, for those of you who will die if you eat an egg.

I need ice cream. Now.

Mitch loves Whitney Houston.

Mitch has been a fan of Whitney Houston since he was just a tiny pup. We used to sing "I Want to Dance with Somebody," hold his front paws, and dance. But his favorite is from the critically acclaimed film The Bodyguard.

I will always love Mitch, and Mitch will always love you.

Maryland Update

My Classroom

One of the few advantages of teaching in a dilapidated school that's filled with mold is that you get a lot of freedom to decorate. From what I've heard, one of the social studies classrooms had a mural of Hitler painted on the wall. Taking that into consideration, I decided that a few trees wouldn't hurt anybody, but they may make me a little happier each time I step into my classroom. So last week my seniors and I painted some trees on the walls, and grass and flowers under my white board.

(Forgive the clutter. I'm purging.)

I also scored class sets of some awesome books from my buddy Hugh, who is leaving teaching to go to medical school. I'm really sad that I won't be working with him any longer, but this class set of The Elements of Style is helping to ease the pain.

Looks like one of the ninth graders reset the classroom agenda for the summer.

I intend to.

And I hate Jillian Michaels right back.

Tonight, while waiting for Matt to get home from his weekend at the spa, I decided I had enough time to shred before he came home. And in a flash of genius I decided that I was ready for level 2. I was NOT ready for level 2. I am writing this from beyond the grave.

Of course I didn't actually die, but I felt like I might. Look how red my face was!

And if you're wondering if I'm using this post to announce to the world that I am pregnant, I am not. I am not pregnant, unless you can be pregnant with hot dogs and cupcakes and wine.

Anyway, the shred was anything but an enjoyable experience, and I again feel like I may vomit. This is my "Stay the hell away from me, Jillian Michaels, or I'll hurt you in a knife fight" look.

I think I'll be sticking with level 1 for a bit longer.

Maryland Update

It's not looking good for Maryland the crab. This morning I looked in his cage and noticed that he has lost another leg. So now he has three legs on one side, and no legs on the other. Do they make wheelchairs for crabs? Can crabs have the diabetes?

A couple of hours later I saw that he was completely upside down in the water. That can't be good. I tried to help him by putting him right side up, but I'm scared that if it happens again I won't catch it in time. Dammit! Worst. Crab. Mother. Ever.

By the way, can you imagine just having one of your legs fall off? "Hey, Mandy. How are you doing?" "Kind of crappy; one of my legs fell off today."

Speaking of David Letterman. . .

I just came across this on the Late Show website. You can contribute your own joke to a top ten list contest! This week's topic: Top Ten Complaints of Jon and Kate's kids.

And if you win, you get a free Late Show mousepad.

Done and done.

Don't Mess with Dave

You know the list? The list from Friends, the one where you name the five celebrities you are allowed to sleep with without your spouse getting mad at you? Well, these two men are on mine. David Letterman has been on mine forever. I love this man. (And I wouldn't kick Obam' out of bed for eating cookies.)

I do not love this woman.

Sarah Palin offends me to the core of my being. I think that she is disgusting, stupid, an opportunist, and an insult to women. Every time I hear her run her mouth I feel the need to donate more money to Obama and Planned Parenthood. She is a symbol of everything I loathe.

One thing I hate is teenage pregnancy, or more specifically, people having kids they're not capable of raising, regardless of their age. I also hate abstinence-only sex education. It's even more stupid than Sarah Palin.

Sarah Palin and her daughter Bristol are proponents of abstinence-only sex education. You know, because it's been really effective for them. Sarah Palin has paraded her daughter--and now her grandson--around for the better part of a year.

And now she's mad at my boyfriend Dave because he made a joke about her daughter being knocked up. She's insisting that 1.) he was talking about her 14-year old (which he was not), 2.) that he is some kind of pedophile supporter of raping 14-year olds, 3.) Dave Letterman cannot be trusted around a 14-year old girl. Opportunist? Stupid? Check. Check.

If there was something that could make me hate this woman more, she just found it. Hey, Dummy, if you throw your knocked-up, abstinence-promoting daughter into the national spotlight, expect some criticism. Expect some jokes. If you don't want your daughter to face such criticism, don't put her out there.

I myself will mock a knocked-up idiot 18-year old any day of the week. And her incompetent mother, too.

Go Dave!

Ahhh. . .

School's out. I'm relieved, thrilled, exhausted, and in a state of disbelief. Summer break is by far the greatest thing about my job, followed by Christmas break and spring break. It's also nice to be home every day around 3:00. The thought that I have three relatively painless teacher work days and then I don't have to be back there for two months makes me giddy. Absolutely giddy.

Matt's traveling to Virginia for the weekend to reunite with old college and high school friends. Matt says that they just drink beer and talk, but I imagine there's more. I picture them drinking champagne, getting manicures and pedicures, gossiping, watching old episodes of Beverly Hills 90210, and having several dance-offs. I suspect that he's not been completely honest about what goes on during these reunions.

So it's just me and the dogs for the weekend, and I have big plans. I'm about to tap into the box of wine that's been calling my name from the refrigerator, and then I might clean the house. Oh, boxed wine. Oh, drunken house cleaning.

What will I do for the next two months? I have some ideas. Let's see if I stick to them:

• Learn to sew. Make some curtains.
• Make the back yard less of a jungle.
• Eat healthy and lose some weight.
• Shred, elipt, and walk/jog.
• Relax.
• Cook.
• Re-tool my 12th grade class.
• Get caught up with my correspondance.
• Go to the beach every Monday.
• Steal my sister.
• Buy Punch Out for the Wii. Beat Matt at the game.
• Celebrate our 2nd wedding anniversary in style.
• Sleep in every day.

It should be good. I've been looking forward to this since last summer.

I have crabs.

My friend Jen stopped by last week as she was passing through town. She gave me crabs.

Little baby crabs, that is, that she had had as classroom pets--not the kind one might acquire from using public restrooms.

(Disgusting sidenote: one time my aunt got crabs--the pubic lice kind--in her eye. She had washed her face and dried it with a towel my uncle had used, and he had crabs. By the way, getting crabs in your eye, and getting them from your brother, has to be among the grossest things on the planet.)

So there were two crabs, and I had planned on taking them to the beach and staging a dramatic release. But I didn't, because I have important things to do: work and take naps and bake cupcakes and shred.

Today I looked in their cage and realized that the small crab was missing some legs. The big crab was trying to kill him! I was so angry with the big crab. This tiny little crab was trying to escape the clutches of the big one, but it couldn't walk. It was just scooting around very, very slowly while the big crab had its big mean claw up in the air and was bullying him.

Now there's only one crab. I let the big one go in the front yard, where he will get a taste of his own medicine. My front yard can be deadly! (Remember the snake, the slug, the jumpy frog?? That jumpy frog will most likely seek him out and poison him.)

One of my first projects for the summer is to nurse the small crab, whom I've named Maryland, back to health until he is healthy enough to move to the beach.

How long does it take to grow back a couple of legs?