A Complaint to My Neighbors

When the husband and I got engaged, the husband had it all planned out. He is very much a list person. One of those that makes a list for virtually everything and then checks it off as he completes his tasks. Although he did not have an actual list, I know that he had a virtual list in his mind of things that must happen in his life before other things were allowed to occur. For example, he made it a point to have a permanant, full time job in place before looking for a house to buy. Also, he bought a home before proposing to me so that when we got married I would be fully provided for. I love this aspect of my husband. He is a planner and for that reason we are able to live in a brand new neighborhood.

Part of the perks of being a brand-new-home-homeowner is that everything is new. The house, the appliances, the carpet, the grass outside and the pool. Did I mention the grass is new? Now, don't get me wrong, our neighborhood is mostly comprised of homes and not so much grass, but there are grassy areas for kids to frolic in and for dogs to sniff at. However, we have noticed a growing problem in our growing community.

Almost everyone who lives here owns a dog. While this is not necessarily a bad thing, it definitely has it's downsides. And for me, those downsides far outweigh the upsides. Which is why the husband and I don't own a dog. That, and we don't feel that we have enough room for a dog. The husband and I have noticed a few things about the said brand new grassy areas since the community dog population has grown. One of which is that the grass is now dying in more than a couple of areas around the neighborhood. I understand that dogs need to relieve themselves, but please for the love of everyone who wants to enjoy nice, brand new grass, vary the locations on which you allow your furry creatures to pee-pee. It's so sad that our green grass now has patchy dead areas.

We have not only noticed that dog owners are actively allowing their pets to kill our neighborhood grass, but we also find that a lot of those said dog owners refuse to pick up their dog droppings. Yes, their dog poo is all over our small grassy areas meant for everyone to enjoy. And instead of everyone being able to enjoy them, only the dogs who don't care that they are about to step in stinky masses dare to venture onto the grass. This problem has only grown in the past few months. More and more people find it perfectly acceptable to leave their dogs leavings behind. Without so much as a look back.

And then there are those who pick up their dog's poo, tie it up in a bag and then toss the bag into the bushes. This really confuses me. I for one, can completely relate to not wanting to pick up hot, steamy dog poo. (Another reason I don't particularly want a dog.) But what I cannot fathom is why anyone would pick up the poo and then throw it in the bushes. What is the point of this? If I ever see someone do this, I will personally ask them why that is better than leaving it in the first place. Now we have bags and dog poo and dying grass. All over our new neighborhood.

So, the association decided it would be a good idea to put in a bunch of these

all over the neighborhood. I for one think this is a fabulous idea. They not only have the little baggies that every dog owner needs in order to pick up the poo, but it also has a trash can attached so that they can then dispose of their dog waste in an actual trash can. But, this has not helped our issues. And apparently, other neighbors are tired of this phenomenon as well because on coming home one afternoon, the husband and I spotted this sign.

As you can see, there are two piles of dog poo on either side of the sign, and the sign itself has a doggie poo-poo bag attached to the side of it. What's worse is that directly across the small side street in our neighborhood is one of those trash-can-with-doggie-poo-bags-attached signs (pictured above... what does one call those things anyway?).

I loved this sign so much that everytime we drove by it I would ask the husband if he thought "Our Sign" was still there. Yes, I lovingly referred to it as "Our Sign" because I think it is that awesome and I secretly wish I had had the nerve to create such a masterpiece.

Spatulas and Spiders

Before the husband and I met, I didn't cook. At all. I had no desire and my mom would do it for me. Where was the need? It became apparent shortly after we started dating, however, that the husband wanted a wife that would cook. He loves cooking and thinking of new things to add to existing dishes or creating eniterly new dishes.

When I didn't instantly jump at the idea of being able to be in the kitchen, he was a little sneaky about getting me in there. He would casually ask me to stir this or that while he cut something else. This eventually turned into him giving me complete tasks that I could handle on my own. Like cooking pasta while he cooked the chicken and sauce.

Then one day he called and told me he had a surprise for me. I was excited, but no matter how much I pressed, he wouldn't tell me what it was. When I saw him later that day he handed me my present. Let me preface this by saying that I hate opening gifts in front of people. Not because I am selfless and don't like getting gift. I love presents. I love getting things that make me feel special. I hate opening gifts in front of an audience because I cannot hide my emotions. Whatever I am feeling is always plastered all over my face. There is never a question as to how I am feeling, all one has to do is look at my face and they will know instantly. I can only imagine what my face looked like as I opened my gift: a cookbook. And that was the beginning of the end.

I now am getting to the point where I like to cook. Sometimes. It does really help that the husband loves to cook and will always get in the kitchen with me. We cook side by side a few times a week. It's nice. The other day I was cooking and the husband was helping. We had just finished with the stir fry vegetables and chicken. As the husband was holding out the plate, I started to scoop until I stopped.

I started backing away as fast as I could without running and trying to spit out that there was something I was backing away from. I couldn't quite communicate what I saw because I was hyperventilating. The husband was a little freaked. He thought something was really wrong and was asking me what was wrong. He must have asked 10 times before I was able to answer. When I finally caught my breath I told him there was a spider that had dropped down from its web and was floating dangerously close to the food.

He couldn't see it at first because the spider was black. But when he finally did see it he grabbed the spatula I was holding in my hand to smash it against our counter. But before he did smash it he flipped it over and found the red hourglass. Yep. There was a black widow that tried to have dinner with us. I immediately grabbed disinfectant and cleaned the spatula and the counter. When thanking the husband for coming to my rescue I also asked that next time he not use our spatula to smash it.

And now I have a recipe to share. This has become one of the husband's and my favorite recipes. It is a chicken and vegetable pizza on whole wheat garlic and herb dough.

Ingredients: (The vegetables change every time we make it based on what we have. This time we included:)
2 Boneless Skinless Chicken Breasts, cubed
1 Roma Tomato
Onion
2 Tablespoons Minced Garlic
2 Tablespoons Butter
8 oz. Provolone Cheese Shredded
Pizza Dough (We like the garlic and herb dough from Trader Joe's)
Broccoli
Fennel
Bell Pepper
Carrots
*The amounts of vegetables we use varies, but it is usually between 1/2 cup to 1 cup of each

Cut up vegetables of your choice. Set them aside and cook the cubed chicken. Set the chicken aside and saute the vegetables (all except tomato) in minced garlic and butter until they are cooked to your liking. The husband and I like them slightly crunchy. Add the chicken to the veggies for the last minute to add the butter and garlice flavor.

While the vegetables are sauteing, roll the pizza dough out to desired size and shape. Heat the oven to 350 and cook the dough for about 10 minutes.

Take the dough out and add the sauteed veggies and chicken. Be sure to spread the butter and garlic over the veggies on the dough as well.

Add the provolone cheese.

Top with tomatoes.

Bake for another 20-30 minutes, until the dough is slightly crispy on the edges and the cheese is bubbly. And enjoy!

So It Wasn't My Finest Moment...

I am not a bug person. I have, however, gotten better over the years. Instead of screaming at the top of my lungs and sprinting as fast and as far as I can from whatever insect that is trying to invade my space, I slowly back away and almost kind-sorta hyperventilate while still trying to alert the nearest somebody that there is a bug of some sort that needs to be destroyed. Immediately.

And I've been even better than that lately. As you will recall, the husband loves to keep the front door open. And since we have terrible cell phone service in our home (and no, we do not have a land line, do people still get those these days?), he is confined to our front patio while talking on the phone. And since he is on the patio, the front door must be open. It's a rule he has.

One night he was chatting away on said cell phone in said patio and a huge, behemoth of a moth comes barreling into our home through our said open front door. Perfect. And what does the husband do? When he knows I am terrified of any such creature? He comes in to tell me that a moth just came in the house and closes the front door. He trapped me inside the house, with no other way for me the moth to escape and continued his conversation on the patio. With the door closed.

After a few moments of me backing as far away from the moth as possible, I had a thought. It's just a moth. A stupid moth that just wants to be near the lights. And that's when I grabbed the husband's magazine. I wasn't about to use any possession of mine. Moth guts on my things? No. Thank. You. So I wad up the magazine as best as I can and slowly approach the moth. By this time he has landed on the top of the wall near the ceiling. I drag a chair over to the spot and carefully climb up, making sure to keep an eye on the moth at all times. Afterall, there is no telling what this moth is capable of.

Finally on top of the chair, I ease my way to a fully extended standing position so that I can reach the moth. Scared as I was, I took a swing at the moth with the magazine. And miss. The moth did not appreciate the attempted swing and in defense swoops down and tries to dive bomb me. I, in the mean time, have jumped off the chair and dashed as far away as possible while screaming in terror. I am now being chased by the most malicious moth I have ever encountered and the husband is still on the patio talking. Did I mention the door was closed?

The same scenario happened again in the bathroom. As I finally worked up enough nerve to smash the moth, I only got a portion of him. (I've never been good at baseball, go figures I'm also terrible at swinging a magazine.) So instead, I have a wounded moth chasing after me. And this time I can't find where he went.

The husband got off the phone around the time that I was searching for the partially wounded moth. And did he help me search for it? Of course not. He found it much more entertaining to tell me how he saw my attempts at killing the moth through the front window and how he was laughing and retelling my story to his friend that he was talking to on the phone. He also insisted on reinacting my peril by standing on the chair and then jumping down screaming and waving his hands in the air. I have such an understanding husband.

Eventually he did help me search for the moth. And we didn't find him that night. We finally did find him on our counter top a few days later. Dead. I immediately got out the antibacterial disinfectant and sprayed that spot down. At least I killed him right?