But what I really don’t understand about fantasy football is that apparently you don’t even put together a dream team. No, you simply pick one player and gain points based on what your player does in each game.

Just one player?

Heck, if I can only score points using one player, then I can do this fantasy league thing with anything! Or anyone. So I propose a Fantasy Author’s League.

I don’t have all the details worked out yet, but I see a point system that goes something like this:

1 Point For The Following Events:

Author has a book published in the current year, between January 1st and December 31st.

Each endorsement by someone who isn’t the author’s student, relative, best friend, or other person whom the reader couldn’t care less about.

Every review from a dedicated media outlet (book review bloggers allowed, regular bloggers not allowed).

Each award nomination (made up awards do not apply).

Each book currently in print (POD does not apply)

2 Points For The Following Events:

Each writer’s conference or publishing conference in which the author is a speaker.

Each genre award that the author, or author’s book wins in the current year.

Hitting a genre best seller list (including CBA).

Each endorsement from an author who has 2 or more books currently in print.

3 Points For The Following Events:

Hitting the top ten New York Times Best Seller List.

Winning a national award, such as any award that JK Rowling’s books boast about.

Each endorsement from a New York Times Best Selling author.

5 Points For The Following Events:

Each endorsement from Anne Rice, Nora Roberts, John Grisham, JK Rowling, Stephen King or similar.

Being Anne Rice, Nora Roberts, John Grisham, JK Rowling, Stephen King or similar.

Deduct 5 Points For The Following Events:

Each book that is self-published.

Each post that slags off readers or fellow authors.

Releasing a book about sparkly vampires, mopey teens, or having a b*tchy protagonist who hooks up with every hunk, spends her entire salary on shoes, eats nothing but lettuce, and feels justified in ditching her druggie best friend because her boss is obnoxious.

Anybody have points to add?

This post brought to you by: my mother complaining that I haven’t posted anything new, and my new found (soon to be lost) ability to finish reading my favorite blogs with time to spare.

Remember, we’re 2nd shift, and so our big meal of the day is “lunch” at about 7pm, and sadly heated in the microwave. For our 3rd meal of the day, we usually do our own thing (usually eggs for him, and leftovers for me), though I do sometimes cook.

So, still stressed out, hubs starts preparing to cook his dinner as I’m reheating a lovely grass fed burger and some green beans in my cast iron skillet, and starts complaining that he can’t find his tortillas AGAIN. This would be because he insists that all of his items be in the front and easy to access while everything I cook with gets shoved to the back. When I cook, I don’t care and shove things in wherever they fit.

So, being the loving wife that I am (ok, just irritated because he’s whiny in the kitchen) I shooed him out of the way, lifted up the plate of leftover pancakes and pulled out his tortillas. I did notice that they dripped a bit as I put them onto the counter, but just assumed it was condensation from one of the many stupid things that we keep in the fridge and hoped he wouldn’t even notice it.

Unfortunately, he not only noticed it, but he noticed that it was milk.

Milk? Impossible. I’ve been buying milk in glass bottles, and glass doesn’t just develop a leak! Maybe I didn’t put the lid on tight and milk that was under the lid dripped out?

I started checking all of the milk bottles that I’d opened (raw for me, pasteurized for him, chocolate for us), and none of them were dripping. And then, through the clear glass of a half empty milk bottle, I saw an unattractive thick yellow smear. Surrounded by clear glass.

The bottle in the back had not only cracked, the entire front was shattered. And there was about 1/2 inch of milk left in the bottom. A half gallon of milk (my precious raw milk at that!) was gone. Literally gone. As in, maybe a quarter cup was scattered over items in the lower two shelves.

Well, I’ve been meaning to clean the refrigerator anyway…

Our fridge is kept ice cold. Milk kept in the back ALWAYS freezes. Always. And I know this. But when I was putting the groceries away, our fridge was already packed full to the gills (it’s a cheap, small fridge provided by our apartment complex management). I’m still not sure if it froze and burst the glass, or if it was from other glass bottles being shoved against it repeatedly.

I did pretty well, too. I only got stuck with a glass shard once, and it only took a few minutes to clean off the food and shelves (despite my husband’s dire predictions of how the fridge would reek of spoiled milk- raw milk doesn’t really spoil, it sours, and the beneficial bacteria in there more or less just gave our entire food supply a healthy dose of probiotics… assuming that any of it got into the food itself).

Problem is… where did the rest of it go?

There’s a kind of grating in the back on the bottom shelf, which I’d always assumed led straight into the bottom drawer. With a sick feeling, I pulled the drawer out, expecting our produce and deli meat to be swimming in milk- only to find it dry as a bone.

The thing is, that drawer broke within weeks of us moving in, so as I pulled it out, it came out. I mean, really came OUT. And that’s when I found out where all the milk (and some crumbs) had gone.

I used up almost a whole roll of paper towels, knowing that hubs would not want me to run a pile of laundry, and me being unable to find the worthless towels anyway since hubs always insists on hovering exactly in my way when in the kitchen. Not really a problem except…

The bottom of the drawer had been sitting in the milk and was now sitting on the space carpet. And, as I was swishing around in there, a bunch of milk swooshed out and ran under the fridge. I think I got it all…

So while I didn’t cry, I think I finally, finally understand where the saying “No use crying over spilled milk” comes from. You just get on your knees, mop it up, regret the loss of $4 worth of milk plus the $2.50 deposit for the bottle, and realize that you’ll have to go milk-less for a few days.

I’m also more determined than ever that when we’re able to buy a house, that it will have TWO kitchens. One for him, and one for me.

BTW- if you want to know about the real food that I cooked this weekend, go ahead and click that link.

1. I got back from Walt Disney World about a month ago. It was awesome, but it was HOT. As in we were in the park that has the least amount of shade on a 92 degree day with 92% humidity. Yeah. Luckily, my husband has finally agreed that we’re never going down for our anniversary again AND that he promised to never complain about the cold in Jan/Feb when we’re in Florida.

2. My husband has taken to a liberal use of powder (all kinds- baby powder, athlete’s foot powder, Gold Bond medicated… you name it, he uses it) in our master half bath. When I commented on the now white floor, his response was “Yes, I like to call it my…(yes, he really paused for dramatic effect) powder room.”

3. I can now be called a card carrying health nut. I’ve switched to coconut oil for almost all of my frying needs, with the only exception being when I really think butter or bacon fat is just too perfect. I am now drinking raw (unpasteurized) whole milk, and even enjoying it when it starts to go sour. I’m tossing all of my table salt and replacing it all with sea salt (if you get the right kind, it even tastes better), using my cast iron skillet as much as possible, and have just this week soaked grains and sprouted pinto beans to reduce the phytic acid in both. I’ve managed to find high fructose corn syrup and soy free tortillas, and despite the huge list of preservatives, consider that a major victory. I’ve found a local farmer’s market that sells grass fed/pastured meats, raw milk, high heat/short time pasteurized unhomogenized milk, and farm fresh eggs.  And I spend much time every day reading Kelly the Kitchen Kop because, well, it’s interesting and she’s nice and there’s a lot of good information that’s easy to understand on it. I’ve been wanting to give her a quality back link, but I can’t think of any terms that she might be trying for… And, as usual, when I went to her site to get an idea, I got sucked into more interesting posts. So, check out her politically incorrect nutrition blog, but don’t say that I didn’t warn you about getting sucked in for hours on end!

4. I had the misfortune of seeing one of my co-workers doing the Macarena. *shudder*

5. I really need to post more often!

6. Oh, and about that whole coconut oil/full fat milk thing? Yeah, I lost 13lbs in about 2 weeks.

I’m really not a memoir reader. I dislike most non-history non-fiction. For some reason, I keep choosing memoirs from Thomas Nelson’s Booksneeze program, and I’m not sure why (perhaps because there isn’t much fiction in my preferred genres). However, I loved I Am Hutterite. It read like a novel, and had very little of the “but that was to change all too soon” in it.

While I’m pretty familiar with Amish and Mennonites (I grew up in and live in Amish Country in south-central Pennsylvania), I’d never even heard of Hutterites until a few weeks ago. I’d heard them all grouped together and was intrigued, but assumed that it was simply another sect like the Amish. Within days I noticed I Am Hutterite appear on Thomas Nelson’s Booksneeze page and immediately grabbed it. I’m so glad I did. I read the whole thing through on my recent vacation to Walt Disney World (and those who know me know that I rarely have time for reading there), and have just passed it on to my mother for her vacation. I highly recommend it.

Links of interest:Thomas Nelson’s Product Page, Book Preview

Disclaimer: I received a free copy of I Am Hutterite by Mary Ann Kirkby from Thomas Nelson’s BookSneeze program for the purpose of reviewing it.

The new neighbors are nice-ish. They don’t talk to us, we don’t talk to them, it’s all good. And even though there seems to be a lot of them (teenage girl has about 6 friends over often, 20-something guy has a handful of friends over, and older couple- assuming parents- 20-something guy seems to have a wife and a baby and a toddler), we’re not really sure who all actually lives there, and who just visits a lot. Thankfully, someone in that house seems to be 3rd shift so we hardly ever hear them after whoever leaves soon after we come home.

This story is not about them, however. I’m just happy to have neighbors that we can live with. No, this isn’t about the Jamaican family that used to live across from us either, who would have loud wailing chants at midnight during full moons (and once on Friday the 13th). This is a story about a relatively normal neighbor across the way.

There was a bird. An insomniac bird. Possibly an insomniac bird with turrets. This bird, for God-only-knows-why would wake up about 9 pm and sing incessantly until about 4am, at which point all the other birds would wake up. Oddly, however, all the other birds combined managed to not be as loud as this one bird. Seriously, we hear big rigs and trains going by our house that this bird drowned out.

Several times we considered killing it. Sometimes we considered asking the landlord to rip out its favorite tree. One night, our sort-of-normal neighbor was out having a smoke just as we came home. We did the fake half-smile-just-in-case-he-notices-us-and-we-have-to-be-polite thing. But he didn’t notice us. Instead, he sauntered over to the tree and stared at it for a moment. And then suddenly shook the hell out of that tree! We, of course, started laughing and got out of the van.

Not-so-normal-neighbor sees us, shakes his head, and says “Bloody bird. I shut him up before and he’s already back at it! I may have to shoot him.” (sounded a lot funnier with his accent and body language).

Believe it or not, my first boyfriend ever was someone that I met online. I was planning a trip to Scotland and decided to try to find people who lived near where I was visiting so that I could meet people more easily. One of them decided that I should be his girlfriend and he eventually convinced me, too.

Now, I met him through ICQ (does that even exist any more?) and not through online personals, but to be honest, I used to trawl through the freebie dating sites just for fun.

I met a lot of really great guys online. Some of them flirted with me, one I very nearly dated, and a few became good friends. But aside from my first boyfriend I never dated any of them. Not that it was because I wouldn’t consider the idea- on the contrary! I simply had very low self esteem and unless a guy blatantly chased me down, I assumed he wasn’t interested. To be honest, even when they did blatantly chase me down I often assumed they were joking…

Now, my husband on the other hand? I didn’t meet online. I met him at work, where he had 8 hours a day to try to woo me. I guess it worked, as we’re celebrating our 4th wedding anniversary on Wednesday.

So, I had a small salad and about 1/4 cup leftover macaroni and cheese. I thought this would be enough since hubs and I were supposed to go for a walk and run a few errands and then we’d be home and I could grab another snack. But nooooo. He’d gone to his parents to help install something which ended up taking much longer than he’d planned. So, an hour or so after breakfast, I’m hungry again. Thing is, I’m insulin resistant, so just like a diabetic I can’t just “stick it out”. So, I opened a can of red beets and ate about 1/3 of it. An hour later, still waiting, and getting sick to my stomach, I pulled a piece of gingerale bread (beer bread but made with gingerale instead of beer- also 1/2 the flour is made up of stone ground whole wheat and organic rye) out of the freezer (I used all natural gingerale and no preservatives when I baked it so it keeps better frozen) and toasted it and added a little bit of fruit preserves and a tiny bit of butter as well as a very small, super thin slice of raw (unpasteurized) smoked cheddar.

This worked much better. Husband came home soon after and we went on a short walk and then hit the stores. And, of course, I got hungry again. And woozy. And low blood sugar. So despite the fact that I’d just bought 3 lbs of fresh fish, we ordered out (don’t worry, we’re having half the fish tomorrow and the rest is getting frozen).

Pizza. And chicken fingers.

So much for trying to eat healthier. So much for trying to get hubs to eat healthier (who shared the pizza and chicken fingers but who also had McDonald’s for breakfast). Oy. Well, there’s nothing for it now- the day’s meals are spoiled, so it’s time to break out the ice cream and booze.

Today we got to talking about beer (long story short- I found some awesome recipes for beer bread) which lead into my blathering on about the two beer review vloggers that I know which lead to internet marketing, and so on. Both beer review vloggers live just outside of Chicago. Both are internet marketers…

And then you add in the web designer/internet marketer that I referred him to for his side business’ website… who lives in Chicago.

I tallied them up. How come so many of my internet marketing friends live in or near Chicago? And how come they all drink beer? And then I realized- Obama = Chicago. One of Obama’s most effective campaigns for the presidential election was via Twitter. Obama’s an internet marketer! (And he outsources just like the best of us). This whole thing filters down straight from the top!

So, if I want to be successful at this, does that mean that I have to move to Chicago and drink beer? I can think of worse things.

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* Bankruptcy
* Foreclosure
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If you’re in need of legal help in any of these areas, give American Residential Law Group a call.

Well, I don’t sit at a desk to work or play on my laptop, it’s either the bed or the couch. If it’s the couch, I sit sideways, not normally, and the stupid couch arms dig into my back. Hubs complains if I use the bed because I steal all of his pillows to prop my back up. So, I told him that I want a Husband, and if I get one that I’ll stop stealing his pillows (for that purpose, anyway).

So this weekend we split off. He went to his parents, I went to mine (we always do this for holidays). He remembered that he used to have a Husband at his parents house, and they’ve kept most of his stuff for him since we don’t have proper storage where we live. Apparently they don’t actually know where any of it is, though.

So he approached his brother. He says to his very straight brother, “I’m looking for a husband”. This earns him a rather suspicious look because his brother knows hubs is straight and thus this can not mean what it sounds like it means. Hubs explains, brother in law relaxes, but no one knows where it is.

So, they head out to K-mart to the pillow section where they find a man that works there. Hubs approaches and states “I’m looking for a husband”. That poor man. According to hubs, the man was very quick to point out that he’s already married (which when he related the story to me just made me respond that then he IS a husband!) and apparently became very nervous until hubs explained to him that it’s a pillow with arms.

And while I desperately wish that I could put this story down in writing the way hubs told it to me verbally (and the fact that without knowing my husband you can’t possibly know just how very funny this is) I’m just very happy that eventually my husband found a husband and I now can have two husbands in bed any time I want.

The end.