So let me tell you about my evening.

I leave work at 6:15, exhausted and drained.  I remember halfway home that I need to stop at the grocery store because I have almost no food in the apartment and can't even make a lunch for the next day unless I go.

So I begrudgingly start making my way through Safeway with a square plastic basket, quickly and efficiently making my way through the store, aisle by aisle, grabbing only the necessities and a few extras at a good price.  Patting myself on the back for my price-savvy, I decide to splurge for the night and buy a frozen Digiorno pizza.  I'm tired and don't feel like actually cooking dinner.

I get home and clean up the apartment while I the pizza cooks.  I even hang the big picture above the couch I've been procrastinating dealing with.

Pizza timer goes off.  I run over to the oven, mouth already watering, and grab the pizza out of the oven.  Here's where it gets interesting.

Since Digiorno cooks without a pizza tray, you put it right on the rack.  I grab this rack directly out of the oven as always.  I've got a cookie tray waiting on the stove to take the hot pizza for cutting.

I decide that since the tray has a lip on one end (the end furthest from me) I might as well try something different and try sliding it off the end closest to me, which doesn't have a lip and I reason will therefore be easier.

I'm wrong.

The pizza slides off the tray.  Too far.  In slow motion it flips and falls - face down - on the open oven door.

Expletives fly.

After cleaning up the mess (as best one can clean melted cheese, pepperoni, and peppers off of a hot oven door) I finally decide that I'm craving pizza enough to drive back to the store and buy a second Digiorno.  It's been that bad of a Tuesday.

I get stuck behind every slow person in the universe on the way over.  Finally getting to the store, I get strange looks from Queen Anne preppies who think it's a cardinal sin to show up at Safeway in sweats and a sweatshirt.

I get in the express 15-items-or-less line, rejoicing that there's only one man in front of me.

Unfortunately, not only has this man bought the full 15-item limit, he is, to my utter and abject horror, the only person left in the universe who actually writes checks at the grocery store.  I am dead serious.  The man pulls out his checkbook and, in the slowest, most excruciating speed I've EVER seen in my life, writes a check for $14.07.

I get back home and put the pizza in the oven, sitting down on the couch with my now-reclaimed glass of Pinot Noir, resolving to blog immediately.

At which point I realize I have put the pizza in the oven without a cookie tray.  Again.

Greta's so cute when she's happy.

Today I gave Greta a special treat.

(For those of you wondering, Greta is my Volkswagen.  Yes.  I named my car.  And yes.  I named her Greta.  Long story short, it had to be a German name and it had to rhyme with Jetta, so that didn't leave a lot of options.  Actually her full name is "Lorelei Greta Jetta" because she was like the folklore siren perched on the Lorelei rock of the Rhein, but that's another story).

So today after work I noticed Greta was about to be empty (actually, Greta kind of yelled at me, "I'M ABOUT TO BE EMPTY, YOU IDIOT!  DO YOU SEE THE LITTLE LIGHT THERE THAT LOOKS LIKE A GAS PUMP?!?  THAT MEANS FEED ME!"

So I pull into the gas station, and Greta's so empty I figure, "Why not give her a new kind of gasoline?  I've always given her regular, which is what her fuel door says to give her.  Let's treat her and give her PLUS. "

So I fill her up with plus.  I manage to squeeze 14.1 gallons into the tank (for those of you not familiar with the specs on a VW Jetta, the tank only holds 14.3 gallons).  Score!

And since she's gotten her new Plus fuel, Greta's running even better.  Quieter starts.  Smoother acceleration.  Better performance.  She's like Super Greta.  

I love Super Greta.

Workaholic

So for those of you wondering how the job is going these days, let me just say: there's a reason why you haven't heard anything from me on this blog in close to a month.

'Nuff said.