Predictably, I'm in the middle of a huge tomato glut. Is that the right word? Yes, I think it is. At any rate: despite the ratpocolypse wrought upon my garden, I still have more tomatoes than I can eat. I've given them away. I've made soup. I've eaten a lot of bruschetta. More soup. Wraps, salads, sandwiches...I've done it all and still they keep coming.

In my web travels, I keep coming across food blogs waxing poetic about slow-roasted tomatoes. Apparently, they're amazing, so amazing that you'll never buy sundried tomatoes again. I find this hard to believe, but I'm game and as such, I now have a half-sheet of tomatoes slow roasting in my oven. I'm excited and I'm told that I'll be so busy eating them right off the pan that there won't even be any need to freeze them for January when there is nary a decent tomato to be seen anywhere in this country.

I'll keep you posted.

Geoff has a problem in that he cannot ever leave this house without calling me. He will call me to tell me that the store is out of something. I know I'm talented and probably magic (especially inside my pants), but really: what the crap am I supposed to do about that? Call the manager and lodge a complaint? Wiggle my nose and wait while said object appears - magically - in front of him? What, internet, would he like me to do exactly? I asked him this very question and he didn't really know the answer. I wish someone did!

He just left to take Jake to a birthday party at a friend's house. A friend's house to which Jake has been many times and from which Geoff has picked him up about half of those many times. Do you know that this man called me just now to tell me he can't remember which house it is and neither can my (errant) son? What? "I'm at a stop sign at topeka and hatteras and I don't see the house". WELL, THAT'S BECAUSE YOU'VE ALREADY DRIVEN PAST IT. And yes, internet, I did give him directions before he left. No matter that he's lived in this valley as long as I have and no matter that this valley is built upon a grid system (it's awesome, every major street will take you to a freeway - anyone who gets lost here is retarded), he can't find the damned house even though he just drove past it.

I've decided that the next time he leaves this house, I'm going to take the phone off the hook. I'm sure the world will implode or maybe even explode (my kids get it from somewhere, okay?) but I think I'm going to be okay with that.

Not that I am bitter or anything. I mean, he can do calculus like a motherfucker - just don't ask him to pick your ass up at 2am because wow, he won't be able to find you. Even if he's been there before.

Don't be mad, Honey. I love you in spite of it. Just like you love me in spite of...everything.