Chatroulette female cook
On Tuesday morning, Holly and I argued about where the milk carton should be kept in the fridge.I often work from home and while I don't need a desk or filing cabinet (as I work from a laptop), I do have one working requirement: Coffee.
When Holly is bored and has nothing to do, it usually affects me in horrific ways such as being forced to play Trivial Pursuit or taking the dog for a walk so, as I had a lot of work to do that day, I replied "That sounds like a good idea." Within twenty minutes I was consigned to carrying rocks and piling them a few metres from where Holly planned to build her rock garden.I drink around twenty cups of coffee per day and I have milk in my coffee.My valid suggestion that the milk should live in the door, where it is readily accessible to the person who uses it most, was countered by Holly's anarchic opinion that "the milk doesn't have a special milk spot in the fridge. She is capable of the process of cooking, but Holly cannot cook in the same way that an octopus cannot ride a bike; it has enough arms to reach the pedals and handlebars but the result will rarely be a successful journey from A to B."That's not true" I responded, "I appreciate everything you do but if I ordered a hamburger at Mc Donald's and they handed it to me in a cup with a straw saying 'Sorry, it was a bit runny so we threw it in the blender and added two cups of water, it's Big Mac soup', I would assume the restaurant was entirely staffed through some kind of special needs employment initiative. " I sure as fuck wouldn't reply, 'Yes, mix them in.'" "It would probably be quite good," responded Holly, "but you would never know because you are too much of an asshole to taste it."Wouldn't it make more sense for me to place them where you want in the rock garden? "No," Holly replied, "then when someone visits and says, 'I like your rock garden' I wouldn't be able to say I built it myself." In the middle of the lawn stood a small pile of rocks.
I saw a documentary once about Vikings and it showed them burying their dead by piling rocks on top of the body.
” to which I replied, “No, it was the television” and Holly yelled out again “No it wasn’t.” On occasion, I have to work late due to the time difference between the US and Australia.
On Sunday evening, Holly was watching a program called Breaking Bad in bed while I was working in the next room.
The rock garden looked like a Viking grave for a cat or possibly a small dog.
A few days later, Holly's parents visited and as they walked into the backyard, her father asked, "Why is there a pile of rocks on your lawn? " And her mother added, "You should be careful when you move them, snakes like living in places like that." When I wake up before Holly, usually to let the dog out so it doesn't take a dump on the kitchen floor, I make her a coffee and take it to her in bed whispering, "Time to wake up, you have to get ready for work," or "Time to wake up, the dog took a dump on the kitchen floor and it isn't going to clean itself up." Thinking that someone was attacking me, perhaps a burglar or an evil doll that had come to life, I rolled away from the blow and out of bed yelling, "What? " Holly, staring at me from in bed, said, "I had a dream you had sex with Vanna White." "So if it had been someone younger that would be ok would it? "No," I replied as I dressed, "but if I am going to get punched in the neck because you have a dream about me having an affair, I would rather it be with someone born after the Civil War." I recently bought a dirt bike. To justify buying the motorbike, I told Holly that it was for her.
The bike flipped a few times before coming to a halt.