Somebody must hate these cans

Man, I totally had it worked out. I took this picture before I actually cut open the box and looked inside, but the plan was to post this on the blog to point out how silly it was that we have enough spices to fill up this box. But in a smug foodie sort of way, where I know that other people who are interested in spices would look at my enormous box and say, "My goodness, If Only I Had That Many Spices!" And I would chortle.

I am sharing this less-than-flattering look into my inner monologue (although I would be surprised if anyone I know has an inner monologue that casts them in a favorable light and if so, what a bland person!) because, you will be glad to know, I got SMOTE. I was HOISTED on my own PETARD.

I've always loved that phrase, because while it mostly means "to be blown up by your own bomb," the word "petard" also has links to a Latin word that was the verb for "to fart." So being hoisted on your own petard is kind of like being made to smell your own fart.

I digress.

The real point of this story is that the box marked "Spices" was actually full of cans, each individually wrapped in packing paper. The box was deep for someone of my stature, so I found myself reaching down, grabbing a 1/2 lb. lump of paper & can, unwrapping it, and putting yet another can of black beans in the cabinet. It took me about an hour to unpack this box. It was awful. So that is what I get.

Ben and I spent some time last night measuring the rooms and our furniture so we could make a little map of the rooms to figure out where the best place to put things would be. This approach is pretty painfully non-Information Age, but I've never found a piece of software that's been able to supplant graph paper and a measuring tape.

We've now moved the couch and entertainment center (or as B likes to call it, the "edutainment center") into the smaller of the two rooms and hooked up the Xbox, so now I can play Stacking, which is much better than actually having to stack more cans.