You Should See How I Organize With Twist Ties

I don't think there's enough coffee in the world to steel myself for the barrage of post-BlogHer anecdotes on the Interwebnet today, so instead, I'm using heroin. Godspeed to you all, may you be subjected only to the best and brightest blogger recaps, and may you stumble upon countless incriminating photos of BlogHer panelists cartwheeling topless through Millennium Park.

So this cold. This cold has kicked my ass in a very big way, so much so that I've burned through a bottle of Mucinex and a bottle of Robitussin (both expectorants only, not even any of the good pseudoephedrine stuff) and my lungs are still full of sludge, as are Gray's. The coughing in our household has reached the Atomic Level, and luggies are being spit and swallowed left and right. Yesterday morning, Gray drove us to get coffee at Dunn Brother's, and I noticed an abandoned Chipotle cup sitting in his console, so of course my reaction was, "When did you go to Chipotle without me!?" and he replied, "No, this cup is still from last week when you were really sick and I brought home dinner. I've been using it as a 'spitter' since then." Which means there is a cup full of creamy white excretions just hanging out in Gray's truck right now. Good luck with that cream cheese bagel now, suckas!

My Jill came down with the same cold last Monday, only she has asthma, so instead of the cold kicking her ass as it did ours, her version put her at urgent care where she was given a prescription for steroids which should have cleared her right up, but against this Hell Cold, they had no effect. She's going back to the doctor today, and I'm going to ask that she go ahead and update her will while she's in town on the off-chance that she doesn't make it through another night of drowning in her own fluids. Michelle? I want your camera.

So what I really should have done this weekend is rest and drink lots of fluids. What I actually did this weekend was rip out entire portions of the overgrown yard at Deeds, plant some herbs and ornamental grasses, disassemble and clean the gas grill, laundry, cleaning, unpacking, hang artwork, plan a menu...basically everything EXCEPT rest and drink lots of fluids...We're hosting a big BBQ on Friday in honor of our new digs, and this was our last weekend to GET STUFF DONE! before everyone shows up expecting food and beer and a weed-free backyard. I had no choice but to push past the sickness and work from sunup to sundown. I'm like a farmer, except with fewer forehead wrinkles and more complaining.

I cannot walk today. Yard work is great for your buns, ya'll.

We bought and assembled our new fireplace thingy for the backyard, hosed off spidery-dusty lawn furniture, cut down several small-yet-well-established elm trees, installed a ceiling fan without electrocuting ourselves, and hauled 4 bins of yard debris over to the sinkhole across the street. I saw two neon-orange spiders, one neon-green spider, and had one ginormous beetle get stuck in my hair. I will never sleep again.

The ceiling fan was quite an adventure. Gray took the reigns, and I promptly tried to yank them out of his capable hands because, we determined, I? Am a control freak. (Don't all object at once! I hear you nodding your heads and I don't appreciate it. Sit down, Michelle, this isn't Oprah.)

I don't want to be this way, really. It's just that I know how to do everything. Like, KNOW-know how to do everything. FASTER! BETTER! Move over because I am BORED when you do stuff while I watch! Gray mentioned that perhaps the reason people think he's not all that terribly "handy" around the house is that I don't let him do anything around the house. I say he can do things like lead the ceiling fan installation, and then I sucker-punch him in the stomach so he'll drop the wrench, but not until after my instruction-highlighting system is fully deployed and my tool are lined up with surgical precision on a special towel-lined worktable (so nothing rolls around!) and my screws are all neatly labeled so I don't confuse part ZZ with part XX because that might mean the fan will come crashing down upon us as we sleep.

I'm looking for a psychiatrist as we speak.

So now our pre-BBQ list is whittled down to: buy food for an undetermined number of people, buy beer for the same unknown number of people, make sure we have sufficient propane, figure out how the hell to tell how much propane is in the tank so we can make sure we have sufficient propane, borrow and set up a shade tent, jimmy-rig enough table/chair scenarios for an undetermined number of people, mow the yard again, oh and STOP BEING DOG ASS SICK.

Oh, and scrub the toilets. Again. Any chance I could work this last one into the BBQ festivities? Toilet scrubbing contest? I'll totally flash the fastest wand-wielder...