So, it was my birthday yesterday, and the Schmozemonster proved she knows how to throw a party. Though no iMac was to be had by reason of rejection by the Walker Household Budget Committee, we are one step closer to computing euphoria due to the lovely office chair that Charlie & Irene got for me. Sarah herself purchased a fancy new garbage can in light of the festivities. You may be asking why in the world my wife would get us, er, me a garbage can? Well, the fact is, we hate our garbage can.
You also may be wondering why we would be so empassioned about a 10 gallon rubbermaid container. That’s because you’ve never had to live with our garbage can–to watch as the bag collapses in on itself after the can is about half full, to use the tilt-in lid as it amasses vile sticky goo after three days of use which must be washed off by hand, to knock that self-same lid into the garbage by accident such that it amasses even more vile sticky goo in one fell swoop. To be sure, this new can is a blessing.
Schmozer, being cunning like she is, hid a new pair of leather gloves in the garbage can box–gloves that match my aforementioned leather jacket. What’s more, she made a rockin’ chocolate cake of which I have devoured three slices in the last 24 hours.
Jaime, Sal and Brandon came over, too, and we had a great time drinking coffee and chilling.
I love my wife. 
After your comments in the car the other day about aspiring towards succinct wittiness, I think this entry captured it perfectly. It very much has your style of speech, and that’s a good thing. I even let my roommate Robbie read it because I got such a kick out of your description of the former garbage can and he said you seem like a really strong writer. So keep up the good work and if you keep updating, I’ll keep reading. – Tom
Jode and I can relate to hating the garbage can….see, our garbage cans are forever overflowing. No matter what we do, they seem to be incapable of holding the unbelievable amount of trash we seem to accumulate.
Papers, coffee grounds, diapers, with a nice rounding off of leftover food (which, JSYK, only communicates that my children really did NOT like what I put on the table)-this somehow does not seem to stay in the can.
Come to think of it, it might not be the can itself. Could it be the person responsible for the trash seems to ignore it? Or perhaps, once it makes it out to the curb, when Ricky Raccoon comes along, then Ricky is the problem? Or, maybe, we have too many children to ever hope that the trash will be normal?
On that thought, I will go away now….
Jenny