Flop...

So, I tried to be a good boyfriend yesterday.

Fail.

I took the laundry to do it, because I knew Robb wouldn't be getting home until after 7, and he wouldn't want to go do it then. Since he's coming home late every day this week because of physical therapy, I thought it would be nice.

So I did that with no incident. Washed, dried, folded. And, of course, it was raining when I finished. It eatiher rains or snows EVERY TIME we do the laundry. I wish I were exaggerating here, but it's true. It's the strangest thing.

Anywho, then he calls me and I told him I did the laundry. And we decided I could put a pizza in the oven before he got home so that dinner could be ready when he arrived. I was being a good boyfriend. And if you know me, you know I don't really cook much. I just can't multitask in the kitchen, with the candlestick. What? Oh, right...

So, I burned the pizza, EVEN THOUGH I put it in for LESS than the time the box called for.

Now I felt like an idiot for not even being able to cook a frozen pizza right. Even with instructions on the box. Fail.

And then I got mad, because apparently I have the emotional range of a nine-years-old boy. I just felt ashamed that even when I tried really hard to do things right, they still suck. So I threw an oven mitt at the counter. Now, Robb hates it when I throw things...and I'm a thrower. I always have been (just ask my mother's collection of stuff-that-isn't-quite-whole-anymore...). It's where I go when I'm angry, and it makes me feel better.

It's not right, but it's who I am.

So then he was mad. And now it doens't matter if I'd carved Lincoln's face on Mt. Rushmore into a likeness of the boy, I still felt like a failure as a good boyfriend. Ugh.

And the mood persisted all night. Ruined.

Sometimes, even when I try really, really hard to be a good boyfriend, I fail. Fabulously.

Out

Giving In...

I'm all for tips on saving money, on cutting a tiny bit here and there. I'm trying to cut way back on eating out when there's someting at home to eat. But sometimes...

For a few days now, I've been telling myself no. Keep driving, go home, have some chicken nuggets or a sandwich. Don't you dare turn left after you leave work. And all the while I've been telling myself that, I've known that I'm going to lose the argument. Let's be honest, I know myself, and I know I always get what I want in the end.

So, today I finally broke down and hit up McDonald's for a Quarter Pounder and an orange Hi-C drink. Yum.

The funny thing about it is that I don't really even like McDonald's. But sometimes I get it in my head that I want a Quarter Pounder and some Hi-C orange drink. I know I can put it off. I know I can tell myself no for a few days. But in the end...I always give in. And then it's months before I even think about eating McDonald's again without shuddering.

I'm a weakling. I take one look at those puppy dog eyes in my rearview mirror and...end of story.

So, now I'm sitting here feeling like a fatty with a QP in my belly and some Hi-C orange drink by my side. But I'm a happy fatty.

Out