Good night dog poop!

First, apologies to Chey. I do have enough of a nodding acquaintance with social niceties to know that yelling "Crap! Crap! Crappity Crap! I've got a, um, well, a mess to deal with here" and hanging up is not the appropriate way to end a pleasant conversation with a friend.

But let me explain. The Baron has been having a really tough time at work. Very tough time at work. He works at a small start up company that takes support calls for *insert an in depth explanation of some form of technology that helps many companies here*. There are only 3 guys that take the calls, and they bust their patooties every day. Nights, weekends, you name it, they're on it. One of the guys is out on medical leave, so the Baron and his coworker are each putting in their normal days/nights/weekends/ plus taking on the workload of the guy out of the office.

Last night we had plans to go out with Chey and the Salesman for dinner and a movie. We were psyched, it's been months, and they are our Most Preferred Couple (just think Most Favored Nation status). It's 5:10 pm, I've just finished putting the dog in the kitchen for the night, we're about to leave. The phone rings. It's a support call. I call MPC and inform them we may be late. At 5:45, I know it's going to be a late night for the Baron, I call MPC back and make our apologies, our big night out is not going to happen. The Baron finally finishes up on the support call around midnight.

At 9:00 am, the Baron is back at it - same customer, still working through the issue. I say to myself "Self, you should do something nice for the Baron. It's only been 2 days that the other guy has been on medical leave, and it's going to be a long 6-8 weeks for the Baron". I start prepping homemade french onion soup, the Baron's favorite meal. It's something I don't make very often, because it's over an hour of prep, and 4 hours cook time. Luckily, I had plenty to do while the soup is simmering, because Wuffles (our adorable bulldog) has suddenly developed an interdigital cyst, and I have to soak his foot in warm epsom salt treatments until it clears up.

At 6 pm, we sit down to eat. I'm tired, I'm cranky, I've barely seen Baron all weekend, I smell like wet dog, and I've been diligently cleaning the bathroom, because the foot soak inevitably leads to Wuffles running around the bathroom soaking wet and getting in to general trouble while I try to calm him down. And dammit, I do not want to step on leftover dog cookies in the bathroom, so in addition to wiping down the tub and the walls each time I soak his foot, I have to sweep and spot clean the floor. But I digress... dinner was wonderful, the Baron was extremely appreciative, and we've settled in to watch Bracketology, because it's March Madness, baby!

And the phone rings. I see it's Chey, I pick up, and we have a very nice chat while her kids are doing their nightly bath routine, and I'm picking up in the kitchen (because I apparently cannot cook without making a huge mess). I go to put leftover french onion soup in a container for tomorrow night's dinner... and "Crap! Crap! Crappity crap! I've got a, um, well, a mess to deal with here".

I managed to spill at least 4 cups of french onion soup while transferring it to tupperware. Not only did I lose half the soup, it spilled between the stove and the counter. It's only a quarter inch space, but it all flooded in to the tiny crevice. Fuck! That means pulling out the stove to clean up the mess. Now I know I'll never win the Good Housekeeping Award, but I usually clean behind the stove every 2-3 months. Same with the fridge. But since Dad died, well let's just leave it at... I have clean clothes on every day, I have vacuumed the floors, and the counters and the toilets are usually fairly clean, but not much else has been done. I need to do serious spring cleaning, in the worst way. All of this is running through my head as I slowly pull the stove from the wall and the counters.

Delicately put.. ugh. Probably a half pound of dog kibble, dog and cat hair, 2 tea lights, some baby's breath, and an unopened apricot lip gloss. Mixed in with french onion soup. Shoot me.

This weekend has been a bust. To paraphrase Chey's littlest one, "Good Night dog poop". I'm pretty sure I'll be seeing you again in the morning. Right now I'm going to take a Lorazepam and a bottle **ooopsie, I mean glass** of wine. I can't wait to see what tomorrow brings!