dumpster diving -- in my own dumpster

I've officially hit rock bottom and I need an intervention.

Unless, of course, y'all can give me some good ideas.

(That's the first time I've ever used "y'all" on the blog.  I'm test-driving it...see how I like it.  No, I'm not from the South, but it just feels happier than saying, "you guys.")

I wasn't going to cover anything relating to the re-shingling of our current home, because there just wasn't much of interest to report.  Philly and our son Anthony tore it down:

For some reason, I can't resist taking butt-shots.  It's a genetic thing.  My whole family does it.  (Well, MY side of the family does it.)  Hey.  I can't be blamed if people insist on bending over.

And in case you were under the illusion that I'm a princess, dream on.  Dream it till the dream comes true.  See this pile?  While I didn't drag the entire pile to Dumpy the Dumpster, I did drag a goodly portion.  On a bedsheet.  All the way around to the front of the house.  And picked them up and threw them into Dumpy.  And this is before the pile got really big.

   

Here's Dumpy.  Oh dear.  It looks like Dumpy is taking a pissy all over the driveway.

This is where the story gets interesting.

I love throwing stuff away.  There have only been a handful of times in my entire life that I've regretted throwing anything away.  Usually it's a good thing.  And Philly has been working so hard cleaning out his garage, that I bit my tongue when he asked if we should throw this out.  

See the looooong box in Dumpy?

That's full of leftover plate rail from our kitchen.

This stuff:

I quietly nodded and watched them go javelin-style into Dumpy.

{Now I'm really going to make you cringe.  See those cabinet doors above?  We had some rejects when we built the house and those got thrown out last summer.  I even approved it.  Then I started reading blogs and found out all the wonderfully cool things you can do with cabinet doors.  I'm sick.  That's one of the few times I've regretted throwing something out.}

Anyway, you know how they talk about people who are trying to lose weight, and they throw away their box of donuts, then later dig them back out of the trash and go into a feeding frenzy?  That's how I felt.  Sneaking into my own dumpster.  What if the neighbors saw me?  I even toyed with the idea of waiting until dark.  Except then Philly would be home.  And he would KNOW.

Speaking of donuts and husbands, I have to share a short anecdote (is that redundant?).  When my sister was pregnant, she always kept a box of (8) Entenmann's chocolate-covered donuts for her husband.  He was normal.  He could eat one and walk away.  Not us.  And certainly not while pregnant.  He left for work and she ate a donut.  And another.  And another.  Until the whole box was gone.  That's 7 donuts, folks.  (Remember, her husband ate the first one.)

In a panic, she ran waddled back up to the store and bought another box.  But he'd eaten one; therefore, she had to eat the "replacement."  Perfect.  Now it's just as he left it.  Except she knew he would never believe that she went the whole day without eating a donut, so she ate another one.  

"There.  Now he'll think I've only eaten one," she mused.

Nine Entenmann's (full-size, mind you) donuts in one day.

That's 2700 calories and 180 fat grams.  But hey...baby needs to eat, right?

Okay, back to my dilemma.  I dragged my treasure back out of Dumpy, and "hid" it in the garage.

Shhh...I'll be very quiet and I won't move.

His visual acuity is based on movement...just like T-Rex.

I wonder how long it will take before he notices?

So...what say you?  What are some really cool things I can do with these to justify their existence (and mine)?

He's going to kill me.

If you don't hear from me for a few days, please come check to see if I'm in Dumpy.  And if you find me, you're more than welcome to pry the plate rail from my cold, dead hands.

After all that work, someone should do something with it...