Pigs and legs and muffins.

Today we tried unsuccessfully to get an easy chair from the garage into the house. In fairness, this chair is HUGE. When we bought it, the guy informed us that it’s actually called a chair-and-a-half. Trying to get the damn thing through the door involved a lot of google searches, swearing, shimmying, pivoting, and numerous declarations of, “fuck it, it’s not going to fit.” Everyone on the internets seems to agree that you can get almost any couch, no matter the size, through any door, no matter the size. Apparently, couches defy the laws of physics. And we’re dealing with a mere chair here. Well, chair-and-a-half.

Anyway, “fuck it” won out and we gave up for now. I think the final solution is going to be cutting the legs off the thing, because then it will definitely fit. Plus I like breaking out my new power saw at the drop of a hat. Or should I say, drop of a chair-and-a-half, in this case. (How many more times can I say chair-and-a-half, you’re wondering? Don’t tempt me!)

Despite the fact that it was deliciously, unseasonable warm today, it’s now cold as balls with a nasty wind chill. This calls for a round of banana nut muffins, I say. The problem with baking in this house is that I bought this new microwave, and while it is sort of hilarious in it’s retroness (which is made more amusing by the anachronism of a 50’s style microwave), it doesn’t have a timer!

I don’t know what sort of dingus would design a microwave without a timer, but they did. Apparently, it’s 2012, we no longer need kitchen timers! Have no fear, the oven has a timer, yes? Well yes, but the oven is truly retro and has this horrid buzzer style timer alarm that makes me (and the cats) think the world is ending when it goes off.  BZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!!!!!! So now I know why they make egg timers, which I always felt were a completely superfluous kitchen device meant only to be filler for a Christmas stocking or as a Hanukkah gift.  (I seem to remember getting an egg timer for Hanukkah as a kid. Twas shaped like a pig.)

So now I’m forced to use my innate kitchen timer, which actually turns out to be not so bad, but I don’t trust it. It’s only a matter of time before I burn some muffins. Speaking of which… muffin time!

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