Hi Grumpy, My Name is Grumpy

There's all sorts of grumping going on around here. Grumpy, grump, grump. I'm Grumpy McGrumperton because of football of both the real and fantasy variety. If I had been paired with any of the other eleven teams in my league besides the one I am paired against, I would be kicking some serious butt. But no, I have to be up against Mr. I-Have-Peyton-and-Santonio-and-You-Don't. Boo. Mr. Grumpy Husband is grumpy because he got a wee bit tired of me cheering against Holmes during the Steelers game. All I was trying to say was that Roethlisberger should throw it to any of the other players on the team. Just not Holmes. I wanted the Steelers to win, just not at the expense of my fantasy team. People, you have to have to think these things through all the way.

Also, there's much grumpy, grump, grump about the Steelers loss.

Before the Steelers managed to get us all grumpy, we spent the day cleaning the garage and putting out a few Halloween decorations. When I say "we" in reference to the garage, there might be a mouse in my pocket because I had absolutely nothing to do with it. But I also am not responsible for the Sanford and Son state that it was in. Me=organized. Husband=shove it where it will fit. (Shhhhuuuush with your "It's your Christmas crap that's taking over the house." I don't want to hear it.)

I have decided to embrace the fact that is apparently fall already and will be spending my week erecting a graveyard in the front yard, complete with lots of ghosts and ghouls. The neighborhood association will then promptly mail me my award for best decorations and I will promptly turn my attention to making it look like Clark Griswold lives here. Then I'll get another award and before you know it, Alexis and I will be collecting our birthday presents.

Speaking of birthdays, Alexis can expect one less Dora gift when her time comes. While I appreciate that she cleaned up the milk she spilled without having to be asked, using one's Terrible Towel to do the cleaning is a definite DON'T.