So. Today I left work feeling extremely frustrated because, well basically my high end, top of the line company wants my store to look like something close to party box exploding in a Walgreens. Small holidays are no longer small holidays and everything has be celebrating on a level 30, all the while posting on social media like I have nothing better to do.

I get home and think gee things will be better now, I’m leaving, I can have a beer, I’m getting some “new to me” furniture (craigslist OBSESSED btw, more on that later!), and I got a bomb ass (yes that’s right BOMB ASS) Asian inspired meatball recipe to make tonight! So I get home, do my dishes, and get ready to go get the new tv stand/ possible coffee station (thank you Pinterest!, also more to come later). My boyfriend gets there and we leave.

Here’s where it gets funky, funky, funky. Get funky. (You know you sang it! Now everybody clap yo hands, clap clap, clap yo hands) moving on….

We drive all over God’s green earth, slash route 80, only to arrive down the street from one of my closest friends houses in Maywood. If I had known the drive would have taken literally 10 minutes, not 27. Thank youuuuu Siri!

The gentleman from Craigslist has to come outside because his address is a street it’s the parking lot of garden apartments (Go Google Maps + good ole USA mailing system) and we go in. He shows me this enormous cabinet as opposed to the rustic shelf I had seen online. Oh he says, my mistake. Cool. No problem brah. We dismantle the shelf, pay, pickup, and leave.

Enter the twilight zone.

We get home and bring our newly acquired treasure inside. The soft thump thump thump of some dance remix is wafting out of my kitchen, my nephew is screaming of excitement in the tub, water is splashing and my dog is basically doing back flips and gremlin growls. Totally normal thus far.

I go into the kitchen, passing through my dining room noticing for the first time that’s where my roommate has stacked our old furniture in preparation of the soon to arrive new set tomorrow. I peer into the cubby otherwise known as the kitchen and see him staring into a pot of murky water substance. White vinegar at his side. He’s making ricotta.

Oh.

You know? The cheese? Because who doesn’t make cheese from scratch on Thursday nights?

Ok. Putting my meatball making on hold he tells me he’s almost done. Cool.

Totally stoked I begin making the sesame scallion dressing to accompany my dish on the small sort of empty corner of my dining room table across from the door way.

My sister joins me at the table with my babbling nephew and my dude begins building the shelf in my living room around the bend of my “cozy” 2 bedroom apartment.

All is right with the world.

I finish up the dressing rather quickly because it’s basically an Asian witches brew of deliciousness that takes less time to make than it did to read the recipe. I decide to get the quinoa (pronounced KEEEN-wah for those of you non health nuts like myself. If it wasn’t for my job I’m pretty sure I still wouldn’t know what this airy little rice substitute is. I would probably not be making Asian inspired meatballs with sesame scallion dressing either but I digress) I decide to get quinoa ready to cook because, hey let’s be proactive.

I tear open the bag and realize I need a measuring cup. Note to those who don’t make this gluten free delight often, don’t try to eyeball it. You’ll wind up with mush. Just trust me. I make my way into the kitchen where my roommate is still making his cheese, now at the sink, and attempt to maneuver in my cubby kitchen. As I am removing the measuring cups from their hanging shelf, my lazy Susan (yep, they still exist) holding all my sauces, oils, an vinegars tips to the side of off bumps the pressurized bottle of balsamic vinegar.

Pressurized. Like a soda bottle. A volcano. A mother fu*cking explosion.

And that’s what happens. The bottle hits the floor and explodes all over everything. EVERYTHING!

The floor, the stove, me, my dog, the wall across from the doorway, my brand new dining room tablecloth, the stacked furniture, the chairs, the gate. Did I mention the dog?! THE GODDAMN DOG! Covered. Just covered in deep dark balsamic vinegar.

To put it into perspective a little more I spent my ENTIRE day off this week scrubbing my floors, my dog, and all other surfaces in my house. That was approximately 24 hours ago.

I look at my roommate my nephew jumped and I’m pretty sure started laughing after his initial shock (he’s 6 months and everything is funny) and my sister burst out laughing. My boyfriend mumbled something along the lines of he “picked a winner” in the living room.

Needless to say the meatballs didn’t get made, my floor is super sticky after 2 mops, my dog got a waterless shampoo, we ordered out, and I finally decided it was time to open that beer.

All the while in the back of my mind I’m reminded that this weekend my store should look like my Mexican mother is having a fight while riding horse and it should be advertised on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and fuck it Tinder.

Happy Cinco de Mother’s Fight Derby!

Cheers!