Back away slowly....

This is probably the least formal blog I've written to date. My contacts are also dry, and I can barely see the screen. Should blind people type? I can't see anything dangerous about it. I can't see anything at all. HA!
Coming home to the POC when everyone is home is a lot of wonderful things. It's uplifting, energizing, and loving. But the one thing it is NOT is relaxing. That has to wait until at least one of us has gone to bed. That seems to kind of break the cycle of crazy that tends to permeate our gatherings.
Now I present to you:
Five weird things that happened to me when I came home tonight.
1. Corrie was standing at the back door. The only reason that was weird is that there was thunder and lightening going on outside on par with a Thor temper-tantrum. I'll never understand the whole "standing outside watching the storm" obsession. I can enjoy a storm just fine from inside where lightening is less likely to strike, thank you. A good summer cloudburst is one thing, but when electricity and piano-moving noises start coming from THE SKY, I gotta draw the line.

2. I stopped by Kroger on my way home, and picked up two of the Miso noodle bowls I've been into lately. On my way through the kitchen I threw them down on the counter. Michael thanked me. Way to have some manners, but seriously, dude, BACK UP OFF MY NOODLES!

3. The pile of trash bags in the garage is LITERALLY as tall as me. Awesome. And there's a bar stool in there for some reason. Double awesome. What else is in there that I didn't see? Pterodactyl fossils? The missing link? Paris Hilton's sense of taste? A dead sturgeon? A dead surgeon? I hate it when we miss trash days. The way we generate refuse, it's almost like five women live here.

4. There's foliage in the garage. I don't mean some lawn clippings or an old Christmas tree. I mean SIX FOOT TALL PALMS. Freaky....it was like Birnam Wood was advancing on the Kia, getting ready to storm the POC (don't get the reference? Shame on you! Read your Shakespeare). There were a couple of Ivy plants, I think. Also, that venus flytrap thing from the Little Shop of Horror was yelling at me to feed it. I just threw some organic marshmallows at it. If I can't eat meat, the creepy little shrub in the garage sure isn't allowed to.

5. Did you know that when Laura has her face pressed against a glass surface, it amplifies her already impressive voice like, sixty times? Corrie still can't hear out of her left ear. I shudder to think what would happen if I did that...Armageddon? Bone fractures? Another Resident Evil movie? Or maybe it would have the opposite effect, and cancer would be cured. Cool!

I spend half my time at home trying to figure out what the heck is going on with these people, and the other half trying to decide if I should try and extinguish that thing that's on fire.
Which brings me to Molly. We have previously discussed Molly's somewhat questionable IQ. But really, this dog has GOT to get some kind of smart-infusion or she's gonna die. Over the weekend she ate so many objects that were never meant to be eaten, I'm shocked she still has teeth. One of these objects was a AA battery that bent in half and yet, somehow, did not break. Another object was an electric trimmer with actual razors inside that somehow missed cutting her mouth. I guess God really does protect children and idiots. Technically, Molly is both!
The crazy part about all this is that when you find said destroyed object, and yell Molly's name out of a visceral instinct that says if you say her name loud enough, it will re-cohere the object, she runs up to the scene of the crime and grins (I promise you) up at your face like she's just done you the world's biggest favor.
It's kind of heartbreaking that you have to discipline her for it.

Anyway, I can't talk. My cats are no better. My eleventy-billion year old cat somehow finds it much more convenient to take her business behind the sofa than the litter box.

....what was I saying?