It's 4:22 a.m., and looky where I am! I'd hoped to get to sleep past 3, but Cora had other plans. Actually, she didn't have any plans - she had a nasty cough that choked her and caused her to throw up all over herself in bed, poor little baby. So there was a bath and sheet changing and rocking...and now there is coffee and my laptop, which smells like yesterday's coffee because I left my cup sitting next to the computer when I walked away and Cora thought the coffee would look better in the laptop rather than beside it. The keys are sticking slightly, mostly the lower right side of the keyboard, but the damn thing is working and the coffee creamer smell isn't horrible, even if it is a little too sweet. Yay for not having to buy a new laptop this week!
I need to do laundry, but there's a big spider living down there right now and I'm terrified. I just can't even with the spiders anymore. I think later today I'll take the girls up to the park - there's a tree that drops hedge apples along the side of the road every year; I could grab some of those and put them around downstairs. They're supposed to keep the creepy crawlies away. I've tolerated the spiders for years and years, but they're getting so entitled - webs everywhere and teeny tiny baby spiders showing up every few months. I appreciate that they're probably keeping other creepy crawlies away, but I have this rule about coexisting with spiders that requires them to stay out of sight so I can pretend they don't exist. They're breaking the rules.
My goals for the day are the same as nearly every other Sunday - get the house to a state that sort of resembles clean, wash enough clothes to get us all through the week (bonus points for pairing outfits for the week tonight, too!), plan dinners for the week (maybe even do some meal prep), and somehow, in the middle of that, play with the girls in ways that enrich their minds and spirits, get them outside, get myself outside, walk the dog, go to the gym, fuck my husband...
There are never enough hours in the day. Even if you start at 4 a.m.
I complain all the time that I need another three hours in the middle of my day, and another two at night. It feels like all of my problems would be solved with an extra day or two off each week. Realistically, I know I'd find ways to fill those new-found hours with things that aren't on my to-do lists, but I'd get more done than I do now. *Sigh* Maybe one day.
How do you manage it all? What are your secrets and hints and tips and life hacks? How do you juggle it all?
Showing posts with label House. Show all posts
Showing posts with label House. Show all posts
Sunday, September 11, 2016
Thursday, July 23, 2015
Balance
I'm trying to identify and confront head-on sources of stress in my life. In the last week I've been able to, with some pretty deep introspection, narrow down a few of the daily nuances that make me absolutely batshit crazy:
1. Shoes. Not being able to find my shoes, not being able to find Geneva's shoes, only being able to find one of the shoes...and don't even let me get started on finding fucking socks that match each other. It's a Christmas Miracle in July if you can make that shit happen.
2. Food. Geneva's Lunch, my lunch, our breakfasts, snacks, morning coffee. Dinner - what are we having for dinner? All are very important. All are occasionally missed because I don't have my shit together.
3. Clothes. Knowing what I'm going to wear and being able to locate all of the pieces of said outfit. Wash, Rinse, Repeat for Geneva and Cora.
Sounds simple enough, right? Shut up.
I can recognize how silly and simple that list sounds, but I also know, from living in my daily reality, that those are legitimate, snakes-popping-out-of-my-head crazy-inducing triggers/challenges that can make or break my day before it's really even gotten started.
I also know how to solve my problems, at least in terms of identifying the solutions - shoes go back in the same place after they come off, food is prepped the night before, laundry is done on weekends and work-week outfits laid out Sunday night. I've tried. Oh, how I've tried. It's not easy being lazy, folks. When it was just me and Jimi, oh, the lazy times we had. G came along and required the discipline of every-other-day laundry and regular mealtimes, but she was settling into a pretty good lazy routine too. Then we added Cora into the mix, and, through no fault of hers, just the pure fact of four people living under one roof, logistics got complicated and started requiring some real planning and execution and follow-through. Things we're really bad at in the Fowler household.
I was doing great for a minute, though. When I first went back to work after my maternity leave this last time, I had meal plans planned and prepped Saturday afternoon for the coming week. Laundry was washed and folded and put away and laid out Sunday night. Lunches were packed the night before; there was time for breakfast in the mornings before we left the house, rather than grabbing a granola bar on the way out the door. We knew where our shoes were.
Those things happened. They did. I distinctly remember. And then we all got sick, and we passed some variety and level of funk around between us for the next few months and it just wasn't easy to keep on top of all of that neatness and organization - it makes everything run so smoothly, but man, it really requires work and staying on top of it. Or, well, not being completely lazy asses and doing nothing.
It made me feel better when I learned that there's an actual scientific theory out there that says chaos is the natural order of things - that no matter how nice and neat you organize things, the natural inclination is for those things to become disorganized and messy. It made me feel like maybe I'm not such a complete failure in life. Chaos is normal, and expected. That was long before kids. It's especially when you have little kids, though, right? That's what people keep telling me.
I called a family friend last week, a psychiatrist by trade, and told her that I was pretty sure I was going crazy, and asked her if she could refer me to someone I could talk to. I don't want any meds or anything, I told her, I just want someone to tell me how to stop being so fucking crazy. I'd cried the whole way to work that morning. I was sort of a basket case. She asked me to explain what was going on - what was my particular flavor of crazy, if you will. I'm anxious all the time, I feel like I'm constantly going to fuck something up, or like I've already fucked something up and it's going to bite me in the ass. I can't get my arms around anything, I feel completely overwhelmed and behind at work and at home and I fantasize about burning shit down or quitting my job because then I could start somewhere new and not be behind anymore. She laughed at me.
"Natalie! You're not crazy! You're just a woman!"
dramatic pause
"That's what it is to be a woman in today's fucked up society. With two small kids and a full time job, of course you're a little crazy." We can't give enough of ourselves to any one thing to ever feel like we're doing enough or good enough, and then we've given so much of ourselves and our time to those two very important vocations that there's no time or energy left to give to ourselves. It's a nasty vicious cycle and it can make your brain and your body sick. She told me how for years she'd held out hope that women could come together, recognizing these truths we all experience every day, and help each other, or at the very least, band together to encourage some positive societal change wherein it was made easier for women to balance these roles. What she found instead was a bunch of backbiting and judgment.
Her advice to me was not to seek counsel of a local psychologist - she told me anyone I found locally to talk to would likely be a man, which no ability to understand the perfect storm of emotions i'm experiencing right now, and he'd want to throw a pill at the problem that wouldn't fix my problem. She told me to hire someone to clean my house, or quit my job, or work part time, or come home and light up a joint to relax after the kids are in bed.
So those aren't exactly the most feasible options for me, but she got me thinking - what are the sources of my stress? What makes my day hard?
I organized my pantry. I cut up one of those over-the-closet-door shoe holder thingies I never use and put half on the back of the pantry door and filled the pockets with easy-to-grab snacks for us and the kids - fruit, babyfood pouches, granola bars, pretzels, oatmeal packs, fruit snacks. Now I don't have to dig for nutritious things in the mornings when we're rushing to get out the door - we have things easily available. I made a meal plan for the week so we'd come home each night knowing what we're having for dinner and how we're getting it made. I dug out an old CD rack that is a perfect fit for Geneva's shoes - retraining ourselves to use it is another matter entirely. Jimi's been staying on top of the kitchen mess and the laundry so we've had things to wear and clean dishes to cook and eat with. We're off to a good start, I'd say.
Life is hard and messy and sometimes you just need a good cry and someone to tell you you're not alone, that you're not the only person who's ever gone through this or felt this way. That you're not crazy. Not in a "medicate me" sort of way - life is just hard. And messy. And chaotic. Exactly as it's supposed to be.
1. Shoes. Not being able to find my shoes, not being able to find Geneva's shoes, only being able to find one of the shoes...and don't even let me get started on finding fucking socks that match each other. It's a Christmas Miracle in July if you can make that shit happen.
2. Food. Geneva's Lunch, my lunch, our breakfasts, snacks, morning coffee. Dinner - what are we having for dinner? All are very important. All are occasionally missed because I don't have my shit together.
3. Clothes. Knowing what I'm going to wear and being able to locate all of the pieces of said outfit. Wash, Rinse, Repeat for Geneva and Cora.
Sounds simple enough, right? Shut up.
I can recognize how silly and simple that list sounds, but I also know, from living in my daily reality, that those are legitimate, snakes-popping-out-of-my-head crazy-inducing triggers/challenges that can make or break my day before it's really even gotten started.
I also know how to solve my problems, at least in terms of identifying the solutions - shoes go back in the same place after they come off, food is prepped the night before, laundry is done on weekends and work-week outfits laid out Sunday night. I've tried. Oh, how I've tried. It's not easy being lazy, folks. When it was just me and Jimi, oh, the lazy times we had. G came along and required the discipline of every-other-day laundry and regular mealtimes, but she was settling into a pretty good lazy routine too. Then we added Cora into the mix, and, through no fault of hers, just the pure fact of four people living under one roof, logistics got complicated and started requiring some real planning and execution and follow-through. Things we're really bad at in the Fowler household.
I was doing great for a minute, though. When I first went back to work after my maternity leave this last time, I had meal plans planned and prepped Saturday afternoon for the coming week. Laundry was washed and folded and put away and laid out Sunday night. Lunches were packed the night before; there was time for breakfast in the mornings before we left the house, rather than grabbing a granola bar on the way out the door. We knew where our shoes were.
Those things happened. They did. I distinctly remember. And then we all got sick, and we passed some variety and level of funk around between us for the next few months and it just wasn't easy to keep on top of all of that neatness and organization - it makes everything run so smoothly, but man, it really requires work and staying on top of it. Or, well, not being completely lazy asses and doing nothing.
It made me feel better when I learned that there's an actual scientific theory out there that says chaos is the natural order of things - that no matter how nice and neat you organize things, the natural inclination is for those things to become disorganized and messy. It made me feel like maybe I'm not such a complete failure in life. Chaos is normal, and expected. That was long before kids. It's especially when you have little kids, though, right? That's what people keep telling me.
I called a family friend last week, a psychiatrist by trade, and told her that I was pretty sure I was going crazy, and asked her if she could refer me to someone I could talk to. I don't want any meds or anything, I told her, I just want someone to tell me how to stop being so fucking crazy. I'd cried the whole way to work that morning. I was sort of a basket case. She asked me to explain what was going on - what was my particular flavor of crazy, if you will. I'm anxious all the time, I feel like I'm constantly going to fuck something up, or like I've already fucked something up and it's going to bite me in the ass. I can't get my arms around anything, I feel completely overwhelmed and behind at work and at home and I fantasize about burning shit down or quitting my job because then I could start somewhere new and not be behind anymore. She laughed at me.
"Natalie! You're not crazy! You're just a woman!"
dramatic pause
"That's what it is to be a woman in today's fucked up society. With two small kids and a full time job, of course you're a little crazy." We can't give enough of ourselves to any one thing to ever feel like we're doing enough or good enough, and then we've given so much of ourselves and our time to those two very important vocations that there's no time or energy left to give to ourselves. It's a nasty vicious cycle and it can make your brain and your body sick. She told me how for years she'd held out hope that women could come together, recognizing these truths we all experience every day, and help each other, or at the very least, band together to encourage some positive societal change wherein it was made easier for women to balance these roles. What she found instead was a bunch of backbiting and judgment.
Her advice to me was not to seek counsel of a local psychologist - she told me anyone I found locally to talk to would likely be a man, which no ability to understand the perfect storm of emotions i'm experiencing right now, and he'd want to throw a pill at the problem that wouldn't fix my problem. She told me to hire someone to clean my house, or quit my job, or work part time, or come home and light up a joint to relax after the kids are in bed.
So those aren't exactly the most feasible options for me, but she got me thinking - what are the sources of my stress? What makes my day hard?
I organized my pantry. I cut up one of those over-the-closet-door shoe holder thingies I never use and put half on the back of the pantry door and filled the pockets with easy-to-grab snacks for us and the kids - fruit, babyfood pouches, granola bars, pretzels, oatmeal packs, fruit snacks. Now I don't have to dig for nutritious things in the mornings when we're rushing to get out the door - we have things easily available. I made a meal plan for the week so we'd come home each night knowing what we're having for dinner and how we're getting it made. I dug out an old CD rack that is a perfect fit for Geneva's shoes - retraining ourselves to use it is another matter entirely. Jimi's been staying on top of the kitchen mess and the laundry so we've had things to wear and clean dishes to cook and eat with. We're off to a good start, I'd say.
Life is hard and messy and sometimes you just need a good cry and someone to tell you you're not alone, that you're not the only person who's ever gone through this or felt this way. That you're not crazy. Not in a "medicate me" sort of way - life is just hard. And messy. And chaotic. Exactly as it's supposed to be.
Thursday, December 6, 2012
29.1 - Nesting with new furniture
I bought a couch this past weekend, and it was delivered today. This is the first time I've ever purchased a couch - all couches I've had in my homes in my adult life have been hand-me-downs. (The exception is the one Jimi came with when we moved in together, but we broke it a few months after he bought it and it was never the same after that. Yes, we broke it exactly how you think we did.) We got rid of the broken one years ago and have lived without since well before we bought this house. For the last three years, we've made due with a variety of chairs whose comfort levels range from semi-acceptable to "eh".
I love our new sitting space. LOVE. It's dark brown leather, long enough for Jimi to stretch out on, with low arms that work as excellent pillows and an extra-wide chaise that fits my legs and a curled-up Finnegan. It's perfect. I can see myself happily existing here while nursing our little girl for the six to eight weeks I'll be home on leave - good thing, too, since that was my motivating factor in making this purchase.
If Kimmie still read my blog, she'd read this post and say, with an extra dose of sarcasm, "Wow. What a great story, Natalie."
I love our new sitting space. LOVE. It's dark brown leather, long enough for Jimi to stretch out on, with low arms that work as excellent pillows and an extra-wide chaise that fits my legs and a curled-up Finnegan. It's perfect. I can see myself happily existing here while nursing our little girl for the six to eight weeks I'll be home on leave - good thing, too, since that was my motivating factor in making this purchase.
If Kimmie still read my blog, she'd read this post and say, with an extra dose of sarcasm, "Wow. What a great story, Natalie."
Sunday, April 29, 2012
(Insert Title Here)
It's not 8 a.m. yet and I've already showered and started a load of laundry. GO ME! I've got a list a mile long of things I need to get done today - we played all day yesterday, and so today there must be work:
~ Laundry
~ Folding Laundry (yes, that is a separate item)
~ Unload dishwasher
~ Reload dishwasher
~ Breakfast
~ Vacuuming
~ Take Finn for a walk
~ Grocery shopping
~ Yogurt
~ Bananas
~ Juice
~ Salad
~ Something for dinners this week
~ Lunch
~ Finish that Jenny Lawson book
~ Read the internets
~ Make the Bed
~ Steam floors
~ Set table
~ Dinner
Okay, it's really not that big a list. I woke up feeling like I had a lot to do, but I think it's just a list of chores that come about from being a grownup and not living with your Mom.
My Jimi is home again and it feels like the world is back to normal. His training went well and he's excited about his new position - I'm glad he won't be fielding phone calls from angry people all day. A person can only be bitched at for so many hours a day before that shit breaks through and starts poisoning their mood. Jimi's always been good at keeping his work crazy at work, but that sort of stuff wears you down. I'm glad he's got an opportunity to do something new.
Bossman and I had a come-to-Jesus this week, and I unloaded all of my frustrations and fears and anger. I was expecting something in return, but not what I got. Not "You're the best employee I've ever had the pleasure to work with, and you're one of my best friends." Not "I've done a bad job managing and because of that, the workload in this office is terribly unbalanced. I think I tried to blame that on you," (he did) "but that's not your shortcoming as a manager, that's mine." The sales job I wanted, applied for, and was denied? Turns out the Big Bossman wants me for that job. He compared me to our two rockstar saleswomen in the South and Northwest. He told Bossman to redistribute the workload in the office so I can have time to focus on the customer service/sales aspects of my position, and to get me in a place where I can be out of the office a few times a month to visit our customers. We've filled the position I'd sought, but there are bright things on the horizon for me, and I don't feel quite so much like stabbing myself in the eye to avoid having to go to work. Months of stress fell away after one 45 minute heart-to-heart. It's like Bossman and I have been dancing, a delicate dance where the steps are tricky and the music is fast, and now the song has ended, and it turns out I've got some rhythm after all.
I love this morning. It's quiet and cool - it rained all night and so I can't cut the grass. My sweetheart is snoring softly in the bedroom, my puppy is at my feet. We've got nowhere to be except right where we are. And it's early. This is why I love getting up early - the day feels so full of possibility.
I'm going to go get started on that chore list; the sooner it's finished, the sooner I can play.
Happy Sunday!
~ Laundry
~ Folding Laundry (yes, that is a separate item)
~ Unload dishwasher
~ Reload dishwasher
~ Breakfast
~ Vacuuming
~ Take Finn for a walk
~ Grocery shopping
~ Yogurt
~ Bananas
~ Juice
~ Salad
~ Something for dinners this week
~ Lunch
~ Finish that Jenny Lawson book
~ Read the internets
~ Make the Bed
~ Steam floors
~ Set table
~ Dinner
Okay, it's really not that big a list. I woke up feeling like I had a lot to do, but I think it's just a list of chores that come about from being a grownup and not living with your Mom.
My Jimi is home again and it feels like the world is back to normal. His training went well and he's excited about his new position - I'm glad he won't be fielding phone calls from angry people all day. A person can only be bitched at for so many hours a day before that shit breaks through and starts poisoning their mood. Jimi's always been good at keeping his work crazy at work, but that sort of stuff wears you down. I'm glad he's got an opportunity to do something new.
Bossman and I had a come-to-Jesus this week, and I unloaded all of my frustrations and fears and anger. I was expecting something in return, but not what I got. Not "You're the best employee I've ever had the pleasure to work with, and you're one of my best friends." Not "I've done a bad job managing and because of that, the workload in this office is terribly unbalanced. I think I tried to blame that on you," (he did) "but that's not your shortcoming as a manager, that's mine." The sales job I wanted, applied for, and was denied? Turns out the Big Bossman wants me for that job. He compared me to our two rockstar saleswomen in the South and Northwest. He told Bossman to redistribute the workload in the office so I can have time to focus on the customer service/sales aspects of my position, and to get me in a place where I can be out of the office a few times a month to visit our customers. We've filled the position I'd sought, but there are bright things on the horizon for me, and I don't feel quite so much like stabbing myself in the eye to avoid having to go to work. Months of stress fell away after one 45 minute heart-to-heart. It's like Bossman and I have been dancing, a delicate dance where the steps are tricky and the music is fast, and now the song has ended, and it turns out I've got some rhythm after all.
I love this morning. It's quiet and cool - it rained all night and so I can't cut the grass. My sweetheart is snoring softly in the bedroom, my puppy is at my feet. We've got nowhere to be except right where we are. And it's early. This is why I love getting up early - the day feels so full of possibility.
I'm going to go get started on that chore list; the sooner it's finished, the sooner I can play.
Happy Sunday!
Sunday, April 1, 2012
Strawberries for ice cubes.
Jimi's out picking up our new dryer - we found it yesterday, brand new in box, at a scratch & dent place for $100 less than the same model at Lowe's. The power of comparison shopping. "Aww, our first major appliance purchase," I teased sappily. Of course, it's not really - the house came with a refrigerator and a dishwasher and a stove and a washer and dryer - but it kinda still counts.
Maybe you're a sports fan and heard about the UK/UofL game last night? As my father's daughter, I have a familial obligation to root for the Kentucky Wildcats, but as a resident of Louisville, with so many friends so passionately invested in the outcome for the Cardinals, I must guiltily admit that I sorta hoped for a come-from-behind victory for UofL. I wanted to see this town go wild. Lexington kept it classy and celebrated by flipping cars and setting fire to couches - I'm sure a few of the Cards fans who're looking down their noses today at those antics totally would've participated in the same last night had their team ended up on top.
We went out shopping for the dryer yesterday and stopped in at the Waffle House in New Albany, IN. All the staff and most customers were sporting either blue or red shirts, and the shit-talk flew across the grill alongside orders for scattered smothered and covered hashbrowns. I wanted to take a picture, but was self-conscious about it for some reason. For some reason it seemed like snapping a picture wouldn't capture the moment, it would just be intrusive.
Jimi was a little sad that the Cards lost - he's a UofL Alum, and sported his red in contrast to my blue. A house divided, we were. I didn't gloat in the Cats' victory - after all, it's just a game. I'm happy for the positive recognition the game brought to our state - apparently, having two teams in the Final Four is sort of a big deal.
I'm sad to say we didn't win $640 million the other night. *sad face* I could've really used that money, too. Like, to quit my job.
Oh! Wanna hear what I did on Friday? I went on a rant about a co-worker and my general dissatisfaction at the office...and the co-worker to whom I was bitching was sitting on her mike, broadcasting the entire conversation over the airwaves and straight to the ears of all supervisors in the facility. How awesome is that? Can't wait to see what the fallout will be from that shit. Fortunately, I didn't say anything untrue, nor did I mention any hot shit, like salary or bonus complaints that I am holding onto like a bitter pill. And my boss was out of town and missed the whole thing, so at least there's that. Still. Fuck.
Last week was a little bit of alright - we went out almost every night, and as exhausting as that is, it's also exhilarating to have a social life. Especially after neglecting it for so long.
My 32nd birthday is next Monday, the 9th. We've taken off Thursday and Friday, and Jimi's taking me somewhere special for the night. I don't know where - trying to plan something was too much for me, so I asked him to please plan a nice dinner out somewhere, and to get a hotel room, and plan to have lots of sex, and to please find something fun for us to do on Friday. Looks like we may be having friends over Saturday night, though it's awfully last minute, so I won't be able to be too disappointed if it doesn't work out. I've taken off the 9th and 10th, too - I may treat myself to a facial or something. Maybe I'll go buy myself something pretty. Mostly I'm glad to not have to work for 6 whole days in a row.
Maybe you're a sports fan and heard about the UK/UofL game last night? As my father's daughter, I have a familial obligation to root for the Kentucky Wildcats, but as a resident of Louisville, with so many friends so passionately invested in the outcome for the Cardinals, I must guiltily admit that I sorta hoped for a come-from-behind victory for UofL. I wanted to see this town go wild. Lexington kept it classy and celebrated by flipping cars and setting fire to couches - I'm sure a few of the Cards fans who're looking down their noses today at those antics totally would've participated in the same last night had their team ended up on top.
We went out shopping for the dryer yesterday and stopped in at the Waffle House in New Albany, IN. All the staff and most customers were sporting either blue or red shirts, and the shit-talk flew across the grill alongside orders for scattered smothered and covered hashbrowns. I wanted to take a picture, but was self-conscious about it for some reason. For some reason it seemed like snapping a picture wouldn't capture the moment, it would just be intrusive.
Jimi was a little sad that the Cards lost - he's a UofL Alum, and sported his red in contrast to my blue. A house divided, we were. I didn't gloat in the Cats' victory - after all, it's just a game. I'm happy for the positive recognition the game brought to our state - apparently, having two teams in the Final Four is sort of a big deal.
I'm sad to say we didn't win $640 million the other night. *sad face* I could've really used that money, too. Like, to quit my job.
Oh! Wanna hear what I did on Friday? I went on a rant about a co-worker and my general dissatisfaction at the office...and the co-worker to whom I was bitching was sitting on her mike, broadcasting the entire conversation over the airwaves and straight to the ears of all supervisors in the facility. How awesome is that? Can't wait to see what the fallout will be from that shit. Fortunately, I didn't say anything untrue, nor did I mention any hot shit, like salary or bonus complaints that I am holding onto like a bitter pill. And my boss was out of town and missed the whole thing, so at least there's that. Still. Fuck.
Last week was a little bit of alright - we went out almost every night, and as exhausting as that is, it's also exhilarating to have a social life. Especially after neglecting it for so long.
My 32nd birthday is next Monday, the 9th. We've taken off Thursday and Friday, and Jimi's taking me somewhere special for the night. I don't know where - trying to plan something was too much for me, so I asked him to please plan a nice dinner out somewhere, and to get a hotel room, and plan to have lots of sex, and to please find something fun for us to do on Friday. Looks like we may be having friends over Saturday night, though it's awfully last minute, so I won't be able to be too disappointed if it doesn't work out. I've taken off the 9th and 10th, too - I may treat myself to a facial or something. Maybe I'll go buy myself something pretty. Mostly I'm glad to not have to work for 6 whole days in a row.
Wednesday, March 21, 2012
Impromtu Dinner Party
Everyone's fed, sated, entertained, watered, made comfortable, entertained some more, left for home.
Drive safely, I love you! I say it to each of them, and mean it with my whole heart. Especially our last guest. I'm so glad I called him on a whim, I'm so glad he accepted the invitation. "Daddy, I know Momma's having Bunco tonight and you're sorta kicked out of the house. Would you want to come over here after work and have a brat or a burger or a hot dog and some baked beans? We're having a few people over, it's no trouble that you're not off till 9. Yeah? Great! See ya then!"
There are still two ears of corn outside, shucked but ungrilled. Those were supposed to be for me and Jimi, or me and Daddy. I'm not sure which - regardless, they're still fresh. Gonna have to remember to bring those in.
I moved the love tree to its outside home a few days ago, and when we subsequently rearranged the living room, the giant beanbag ended up on top of the place previously occupied by said plant. Which had a drip tray with a crack in it. Which got the carpet wet. Which, in turn, soaked the bottom of the beanbag cover, resulting in a mildewy smell and some last-minute furniture swapping and a run to the CVS to get some Lysol and Febreeze.
Have I mentioned our dryer's broken? Cause it is. And so I can't wash the cover. Fuck.
It's fine, though. The thing was a big hit on the front porch with an old blanket thrown over top, and the Lysol and sanitizer did the trick on cleaning the stain and removing any bad smells. I'll wash the cover when the dryer is repaired, which had best be this weekend or I'm going to have to buy new underwear.
I'm very proud of my house. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside when people who've not been here before compliment us on this particular knickknack, or that photo collage. When someone says our home is comfortable, I beam. Yes, that's exactly what we were going for. :)
We sat on the front porch, talking talk I don't remember, very important stuff, the stuff the world is made of, enjoying the breeze and the cool night air. It's perfect weather - still in the 70s I'd recon, even at nearly 11 at night. I don't know what happened to Spring, but welcome Summer!
Drive safely, I love you! I say it to each of them, and mean it with my whole heart. Especially our last guest. I'm so glad I called him on a whim, I'm so glad he accepted the invitation. "Daddy, I know Momma's having Bunco tonight and you're sorta kicked out of the house. Would you want to come over here after work and have a brat or a burger or a hot dog and some baked beans? We're having a few people over, it's no trouble that you're not off till 9. Yeah? Great! See ya then!"
There are still two ears of corn outside, shucked but ungrilled. Those were supposed to be for me and Jimi, or me and Daddy. I'm not sure which - regardless, they're still fresh. Gonna have to remember to bring those in.
I moved the love tree to its outside home a few days ago, and when we subsequently rearranged the living room, the giant beanbag ended up on top of the place previously occupied by said plant. Which had a drip tray with a crack in it. Which got the carpet wet. Which, in turn, soaked the bottom of the beanbag cover, resulting in a mildewy smell and some last-minute furniture swapping and a run to the CVS to get some Lysol and Febreeze.
Have I mentioned our dryer's broken? Cause it is. And so I can't wash the cover. Fuck.
It's fine, though. The thing was a big hit on the front porch with an old blanket thrown over top, and the Lysol and sanitizer did the trick on cleaning the stain and removing any bad smells. I'll wash the cover when the dryer is repaired, which had best be this weekend or I'm going to have to buy new underwear.
I'm very proud of my house. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside when people who've not been here before compliment us on this particular knickknack, or that photo collage. When someone says our home is comfortable, I beam. Yes, that's exactly what we were going for. :)
We sat on the front porch, talking talk I don't remember, very important stuff, the stuff the world is made of, enjoying the breeze and the cool night air. It's perfect weather - still in the 70s I'd recon, even at nearly 11 at night. I don't know what happened to Spring, but welcome Summer!
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Sleeping rodents
There's a dead squirrel in my driveway.
I'm going to ignore it and hope something carries it off by morning. Because I am classy and humane like that.
(Actually, I mentioned it to Jimi in hopes that he'd man up and take care of it, whatever that may entail, but he said, "It'll be gone by morning, with all the cats and stuff roaming around." Alrighty then. You're the boss. And there's no fucking way I'm touching a dead squirrel.)
Just remembered the cat's outside, nearly puked at the idea of him eating a dead squirrel, and ran to the door. Fat lazy bastard was chillin' on the stoop, like a good kitty does. No blood on his chops, either. Yay!
I'll keep you posted on the developing story.
UPDATE: 16 hours later, the squirrel is still there. Jimi's gonna have to get a shovel.
I'm going to ignore it and hope something carries it off by morning. Because I am classy and humane like that.
(Actually, I mentioned it to Jimi in hopes that he'd man up and take care of it, whatever that may entail, but he said, "It'll be gone by morning, with all the cats and stuff roaming around." Alrighty then. You're the boss. And there's no fucking way I'm touching a dead squirrel.)
Just remembered the cat's outside, nearly puked at the idea of him eating a dead squirrel, and ran to the door. Fat lazy bastard was chillin' on the stoop, like a good kitty does. No blood on his chops, either. Yay!
I'll keep you posted on the developing story.
UPDATE: 16 hours later, the squirrel is still there. Jimi's gonna have to get a shovel.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
'tis the Season for assholes to try to ruin my goodwill toward men.
On Sunday afternoon, I was chillin' in my living room and looked up to see through my window that two police officers were leading a K9 through my front yard.
WTF, man?
"Um, Jimi, why are there cops with a dog in our front yard?"
I had a conversation with Angie a few weeks back about how nice it is to be one of those people who sees a cop and doesn't immediately think "Oh shit, RUN!" She told a story of how she'd been letting her dogs out one morning and a US Marshall came around the corner, and instead of "Oh fuck" she thought, "Hmm, wonder who he's looking for?"
I consider myself to be part of that group with her - I don't automatically assume the po-po is after me when I see them near. However, when I looked out my window and saw two officers in full uniform leading a dog, I was a little taken aback.
After they let their dog take a nice shit in our yard, they moved on down the street, then up the block on the other side and around again. I figured maybe they were looking for someone - they certainly weren't looking for me or mine.
Today, I came home to a letter from a neighbor, sandwiched between some Christmas gifts recently delivered via UPS:
I am one of your neighbors, and I live at (the house down the block from yours).
Sunday, about 3:00 in the afternoon, my wife and daughter came home from a Christmas shopping trip. They parked the car in our driveway and started getting bags out of the trunk of the car. They had their backs turned to the street, and were talking to each other. A young man approached them from behind, threatedned them with a gun and asked them for money, and then ran up (my street) toward (awesome park across the road). The police responded quickly and professionally, but are not likely to find the robber. Both my wife and my daughter are unhurt, but we are upset this could happen in our neighborhood.
He goes on to say that he's writing this letter to make sure we're all aware of what's going on in our neighborhood, and invites us all to his home for a neighborhood open house on Sunday to discuss the situation and what we can do to protect our 'hood.
Holy fucksticks, this is terrifying! I feel safe in this home - I come home from work and leave the back door wide open, I take Finn for walks and leave the doors unlocked, I don't lock my car doors.
When we lived on Camp Street, some ya-hoo, the week of Thanksgiving, threw a brick through our kitchen window and relieved us of two laptops, two cell phones, and a shotgun. Jimi has had nightmares about the horrible things that could've happened with that shotgun, which belonged to his late father. I was pissed that our shit had been stolen, and that someone could be so fucking brazen as to throw a motherfucking BRICK through OUR window and come into OUR home and take OUR things! And I felt violated because the perp had touched of our stuff, like the clothes in the closet and the sheets on the bed. From that day, until we moved out a few years later, I hid our things before we left for work - anything of value was hidden in a new place each morning. Some days that really sucked, because my memory sucks, and you haven't seen a pissed off Natalie until you've seen one who can't remember where she hid the fucking laptop.
Thank goodness for Finn. At least he serves as a good deterrent to any would-be invaders. That, and the samurai ninja warriors with laser guns who live in the basement - they'll cut a motherfucker down.
Be careful out there, peeps. Assholes are everywhere, and some of them want to steal your shit because they're too fucking lazy to get jobs and earn some nice things for themselves. And remember, if you are faced with one of those assholes, unless you're AT LEAST a black belt in something, it's probably a good idea to just let them have your credit cards and your gucci bag and your kid's tickle-me-elmo - they make more of those things, but there's only one of you.
Be safe!
WTF, man?
"Um, Jimi, why are there cops with a dog in our front yard?"
I had a conversation with Angie a few weeks back about how nice it is to be one of those people who sees a cop and doesn't immediately think "Oh shit, RUN!" She told a story of how she'd been letting her dogs out one morning and a US Marshall came around the corner, and instead of "Oh fuck" she thought, "Hmm, wonder who he's looking for?"
I consider myself to be part of that group with her - I don't automatically assume the po-po is after me when I see them near. However, when I looked out my window and saw two officers in full uniform leading a dog, I was a little taken aback.
After they let their dog take a nice shit in our yard, they moved on down the street, then up the block on the other side and around again. I figured maybe they were looking for someone - they certainly weren't looking for me or mine.
Today, I came home to a letter from a neighbor, sandwiched between some Christmas gifts recently delivered via UPS:
I am one of your neighbors, and I live at (the house down the block from yours).
Sunday, about 3:00 in the afternoon, my wife and daughter came home from a Christmas shopping trip. They parked the car in our driveway and started getting bags out of the trunk of the car. They had their backs turned to the street, and were talking to each other. A young man approached them from behind, threatedned them with a gun and asked them for money, and then ran up (my street) toward (awesome park across the road). The police responded quickly and professionally, but are not likely to find the robber. Both my wife and my daughter are unhurt, but we are upset this could happen in our neighborhood.
He goes on to say that he's writing this letter to make sure we're all aware of what's going on in our neighborhood, and invites us all to his home for a neighborhood open house on Sunday to discuss the situation and what we can do to protect our 'hood.
Holy fucksticks, this is terrifying! I feel safe in this home - I come home from work and leave the back door wide open, I take Finn for walks and leave the doors unlocked, I don't lock my car doors.
When we lived on Camp Street, some ya-hoo, the week of Thanksgiving, threw a brick through our kitchen window and relieved us of two laptops, two cell phones, and a shotgun. Jimi has had nightmares about the horrible things that could've happened with that shotgun, which belonged to his late father. I was pissed that our shit had been stolen, and that someone could be so fucking brazen as to throw a motherfucking BRICK through OUR window and come into OUR home and take OUR things! And I felt violated because the perp had touched of our stuff, like the clothes in the closet and the sheets on the bed. From that day, until we moved out a few years later, I hid our things before we left for work - anything of value was hidden in a new place each morning. Some days that really sucked, because my memory sucks, and you haven't seen a pissed off Natalie until you've seen one who can't remember where she hid the fucking laptop.
Thank goodness for Finn. At least he serves as a good deterrent to any would-be invaders. That, and the samurai ninja warriors with laser guns who live in the basement - they'll cut a motherfucker down.
Be careful out there, peeps. Assholes are everywhere, and some of them want to steal your shit because they're too fucking lazy to get jobs and earn some nice things for themselves. And remember, if you are faced with one of those assholes, unless you're AT LEAST a black belt in something, it's probably a good idea to just let them have your credit cards and your gucci bag and your kid's tickle-me-elmo - they make more of those things, but there's only one of you.
Be safe!
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Two years of home sweet home.
We closed on our home two years ago today. When we came over that night, after the ink was dry and the papers were filed away, tensions were high - buying a house is a stressful thing, and so is moving. Jimi was a live-wire, taught and vibrating with energy that could easily shift to anger or frustration with the smallest provocation. I was in my eggshell dancing mode; I don't have to do that often, usually only when we're trying to get the truck loaded before a camping trip, but I had years of practice from my previous marriage, so I'm really good at it. We hung our windchimes on the front porch (his belonged to his Mom, mine to Granny). For funsies, I put my hand into the mailbox - and there was mail! Addressed to us!!! Maggie had mailed us a card, timing it just right so it'd arrive the day we took possession; she's so special to my heart. There was no electricity or water service - the sellers had graciously made certain those were turned off that morning - so in the dark we carried in the boxes we'd packed into Jimi's truck. I was so excited, I wanted to sleep here in the dark and cold - well, I jokingly suggested it.
I love this house. I love how comfortable and cozy it is. I love that we have more than enough space for all of our stupid things. I love that we have a big front porch, perfect for summer afternoons with a paperback. I love that our yard is big and green, and that mowing it burns almost 700 calories. I love that we have a basement for the laundry and litter to live; I love that we have two toilets.
It's just a house, just bricks and mortar and wood and drywall and paint and carpet; a shell to protect us against the wind and rain as we live our lives. It's a good backdrop, though, a good stage.
And I think I need to turn up the thermostat; it's freakin' freezing in here!
I love this house. I love how comfortable and cozy it is. I love that we have more than enough space for all of our stupid things. I love that we have a big front porch, perfect for summer afternoons with a paperback. I love that our yard is big and green, and that mowing it burns almost 700 calories. I love that we have a basement for the laundry and litter to live; I love that we have two toilets.
It's just a house, just bricks and mortar and wood and drywall and paint and carpet; a shell to protect us against the wind and rain as we live our lives. It's a good backdrop, though, a good stage.
And I think I need to turn up the thermostat; it's freakin' freezing in here!
Sunday, November 13, 2011
Sunday musings
I'm wanting to beat up the TV again. It's hard to sit here and think and try to remember what all I've done this week when Daffy Duck is screaming in my ear. Except now Daffy has been replaced by Joan Rivers, and it's not an improvement. Oh, and there's Larry the Cable Guy. Okay, now there's a show about Border Collies. Finn's part Border Collie, so this is okay, i guess. Now i want to put him through agility training. (We couldn't even make it through obedience classes, who am I kidding?)
The water problem was solved by a visit from our favorite plumber and a few turns of a pipe wrench. It really was that simple, thank goodness. (Of course, that was something we learned after Jimi spent 3 hours and an entire bottle of propane trying to torch the handle off, but whatevs.) We've not yet addressed the water line on the fridge, but we'll get to that this week. I'm still thrilled by the novelty of turning a knob and water coming out of the spigot. The little things are huge, you know.
I was thrilled that Mississippi's proposed "personhood" amendment failed on Tuesday. It would've made abortion completely illegal in Mississippi, and also would've banned contraceptive methods such as the IUD and certain forms of birth control pills. Pregnancy threatening the life of the mother? There's no choice or option - the pregnancy must be continued. It surely would've been defeated in the Supreme Court had it somehow tragically passed, but I'm happy to see that the people of Mississippi, like those in Colorado before them, were able to recognize this attack on the reproductive rights of women and defeat it soundly.
My mouth/face has hurt all week, but (fingers crossed) I think it's over and all better now. I guess I just really burned the fuck out of the roof of my mouth - I've never had something so long-lasting and painful result from a french bread pizza before.
It's so windy here today - I was finally able to turn off the TV, and I hear Granny's windchimes making beautiful music, accompanied by a hollow howling sound made when the wind whips across my front porch and through the cracks under my front door. It's a creepy sound, that wind blowing. It makes me think of dark and stormy nights, locked away in a cabin in the woods, where some madman is stalking and waiting...but it's 11:30 Sunday morning in the middle of the South End of Louisville Kentucky, and it's 60 degrees and overcast outside and the madmen don't hide and stalk, they're out there walking the streets with the rest of us. Or we are them.
I applied for a credit card this week. I don't know why I did it...if I had to guess, I'd say it was probably because of the whole "what if I need to go to the dentist and I don't have any money" thing. I know the right thing to do is to have a savings account from which to draw those emergency funds. I'm working on that. Meanwhile, I will have this little dangerous piece of plastic. This is a test, to see if 5 years of cash-only living and a few really painful lessons have taught me to live within my means and not spend money that isn't mine. Wish me luck.
I think I blinked and all of a sudden it's the middle of November. Thanksgiving is less than 2 weeks away; so's Stacy's birthday. Her baby shower is the first weekend in December, then there's the company Christmas dinner, then Christmas and New Year, then the baby will be here - holy crap! Time is flying! I've gotta get on the ball - I'm taking Stacy to a day spa for her birthday for a massage and facial (it's her 30th, and I can't exactly treat her to a fifth of Patron, you know?), and I still have to find a place and make appointments.
Brother comes home on Tuesday. He made it. He will be home for the holidays, home for the first time in over a year. Able to sleep in a dark quiet room that's not shared with 39 other men. Able to eat real food, meals complete with fruits and vegetables that grew from the ground. Able to come and go as he pleases, without requiring a pass or a "by your leave" from a guard or counselor. I'm terrified for him.
I went to the local coffee shop yesterday for a fix and came away with three huge cupcakes, one for me, one for Jimi, and one for Steve. They were all three different flavors, but all three had a squirt of whipped cream icing in the center. This seems to be a recent trend in cupcakes, and it's sorta pissing me off. Now, a year or so ago, my boss's wife brought in a six-pack of gourmet cupcakes from a bakery near them; one was a lemon, and inside was a wonderful squirt of lemon curd, all tangy and sweet. The wedding cake cupcake had the whipped cream icing, with a surprise injection of strawberry glaze. Those surprise fillings add a great flavor element and are welcome and completely acceptable. The plain ol' whipped cream icing squirted into every single cake, though? Come on. If your cupcakes need that, you need to make better cupcakes.
Jimi's got a list a mile long of shit we're supposed to do today. I don't want to do any of it. Are you shocked? I'm sure. I want to sit here and do nothing. Maybe take a nap. Then do nothing some more.
I repotted the love tree and brought it into the house this week. Well, I actually replanted it into the same pot, but it had a nasty lean to it, so I had to add some extra soil and make some adjustments for the odd angle. As I dropped the root ball into the dirt-filled pot, the loose dirt blew up into my face - and my open eyes. Wow, that sucked so bad. I was blinded immediately; I stopped what i was doing, made my way to the front door, and once inside, I stripped off the clothes from my top half. I walked straight across the living room and hall into the bathroom, where I flushed my eyes over and over for the next five minutes. So. Much. Dirt. Eventually they weren't so red anymore and the tears stopped, and I was able to go out and finish the job. Fast forward to yesterday, when I'm talking to Jimi as he digs around in the shed where we keep the gardening stuff. I was standing on a bag of dirt, just like the one I'd used to repot the love tree, and looked down and read "Important: We strongly recommend the use of gloves when using this product." and "Not for container plants". It's organic garden soil. It's supposed to go in your flower beds. It's a big ol' bag of shit, and I got it all in my face and mouth and nose and eyes. While repotting my container plant. Pretty good metaphor for the whole week, really.
Jimi and I are good, though. We spent a couple hours a couple nights this week talking to each other - really talking, like looking at each other while we spoke and everything. No distractions of television or computer, just us, the way we used to do all the time. The sort of talk that reconnects you as a couple; the sort that's as therapeutic as good sex. We're always here, but I'm always grateful when we're able to take the time and reaffirm that fact. And then I feel guilty for doing my part in not making it happen more often. But not too guilty, because that's just life, and I don't need one more thing to beat myself up about.
He picked me a rose from the bushes that line the White Castle drive-thru. Then we made out like teenagers (the drive-thru line wasn't moving anyhow) and got our food and came home and I put the flower in a little tiny mason jar full of water next to the laptop. A pretty good metaphor for our whole relationship, really.
I'm in a Sims phase. I'm addicted to this Pets thing - I've adopted a unicorn and five cats and three dogs and some horses and birds and rats and snakes...it's awesome. (When I say I want to do nothing, that's what I really mean - I want to play Sims Pets.) I guess I'll go do that until he makes me do something else.
Happy Sunday!
The water problem was solved by a visit from our favorite plumber and a few turns of a pipe wrench. It really was that simple, thank goodness. (Of course, that was something we learned after Jimi spent 3 hours and an entire bottle of propane trying to torch the handle off, but whatevs.) We've not yet addressed the water line on the fridge, but we'll get to that this week. I'm still thrilled by the novelty of turning a knob and water coming out of the spigot. The little things are huge, you know.
I was thrilled that Mississippi's proposed "personhood" amendment failed on Tuesday. It would've made abortion completely illegal in Mississippi, and also would've banned contraceptive methods such as the IUD and certain forms of birth control pills. Pregnancy threatening the life of the mother? There's no choice or option - the pregnancy must be continued. It surely would've been defeated in the Supreme Court had it somehow tragically passed, but I'm happy to see that the people of Mississippi, like those in Colorado before them, were able to recognize this attack on the reproductive rights of women and defeat it soundly.
My mouth/face has hurt all week, but (fingers crossed) I think it's over and all better now. I guess I just really burned the fuck out of the roof of my mouth - I've never had something so long-lasting and painful result from a french bread pizza before.
It's so windy here today - I was finally able to turn off the TV, and I hear Granny's windchimes making beautiful music, accompanied by a hollow howling sound made when the wind whips across my front porch and through the cracks under my front door. It's a creepy sound, that wind blowing. It makes me think of dark and stormy nights, locked away in a cabin in the woods, where some madman is stalking and waiting...but it's 11:30 Sunday morning in the middle of the South End of Louisville Kentucky, and it's 60 degrees and overcast outside and the madmen don't hide and stalk, they're out there walking the streets with the rest of us. Or we are them.
I applied for a credit card this week. I don't know why I did it...if I had to guess, I'd say it was probably because of the whole "what if I need to go to the dentist and I don't have any money" thing. I know the right thing to do is to have a savings account from which to draw those emergency funds. I'm working on that. Meanwhile, I will have this little dangerous piece of plastic. This is a test, to see if 5 years of cash-only living and a few really painful lessons have taught me to live within my means and not spend money that isn't mine. Wish me luck.
I think I blinked and all of a sudden it's the middle of November. Thanksgiving is less than 2 weeks away; so's Stacy's birthday. Her baby shower is the first weekend in December, then there's the company Christmas dinner, then Christmas and New Year, then the baby will be here - holy crap! Time is flying! I've gotta get on the ball - I'm taking Stacy to a day spa for her birthday for a massage and facial (it's her 30th, and I can't exactly treat her to a fifth of Patron, you know?), and I still have to find a place and make appointments.
Brother comes home on Tuesday. He made it. He will be home for the holidays, home for the first time in over a year. Able to sleep in a dark quiet room that's not shared with 39 other men. Able to eat real food, meals complete with fruits and vegetables that grew from the ground. Able to come and go as he pleases, without requiring a pass or a "by your leave" from a guard or counselor. I'm terrified for him.
I went to the local coffee shop yesterday for a fix and came away with three huge cupcakes, one for me, one for Jimi, and one for Steve. They were all three different flavors, but all three had a squirt of whipped cream icing in the center. This seems to be a recent trend in cupcakes, and it's sorta pissing me off. Now, a year or so ago, my boss's wife brought in a six-pack of gourmet cupcakes from a bakery near them; one was a lemon, and inside was a wonderful squirt of lemon curd, all tangy and sweet. The wedding cake cupcake had the whipped cream icing, with a surprise injection of strawberry glaze. Those surprise fillings add a great flavor element and are welcome and completely acceptable. The plain ol' whipped cream icing squirted into every single cake, though? Come on. If your cupcakes need that, you need to make better cupcakes.
Jimi's got a list a mile long of shit we're supposed to do today. I don't want to do any of it. Are you shocked? I'm sure. I want to sit here and do nothing. Maybe take a nap. Then do nothing some more.
I repotted the love tree and brought it into the house this week. Well, I actually replanted it into the same pot, but it had a nasty lean to it, so I had to add some extra soil and make some adjustments for the odd angle. As I dropped the root ball into the dirt-filled pot, the loose dirt blew up into my face - and my open eyes. Wow, that sucked so bad. I was blinded immediately; I stopped what i was doing, made my way to the front door, and once inside, I stripped off the clothes from my top half. I walked straight across the living room and hall into the bathroom, where I flushed my eyes over and over for the next five minutes. So. Much. Dirt. Eventually they weren't so red anymore and the tears stopped, and I was able to go out and finish the job. Fast forward to yesterday, when I'm talking to Jimi as he digs around in the shed where we keep the gardening stuff. I was standing on a bag of dirt, just like the one I'd used to repot the love tree, and looked down and read "Important: We strongly recommend the use of gloves when using this product." and "Not for container plants". It's organic garden soil. It's supposed to go in your flower beds. It's a big ol' bag of shit, and I got it all in my face and mouth and nose and eyes. While repotting my container plant. Pretty good metaphor for the whole week, really.
Jimi and I are good, though. We spent a couple hours a couple nights this week talking to each other - really talking, like looking at each other while we spoke and everything. No distractions of television or computer, just us, the way we used to do all the time. The sort of talk that reconnects you as a couple; the sort that's as therapeutic as good sex. We're always here, but I'm always grateful when we're able to take the time and reaffirm that fact. And then I feel guilty for doing my part in not making it happen more often. But not too guilty, because that's just life, and I don't need one more thing to beat myself up about.
He picked me a rose from the bushes that line the White Castle drive-thru. Then we made out like teenagers (the drive-thru line wasn't moving anyhow) and got our food and came home and I put the flower in a little tiny mason jar full of water next to the laptop. A pretty good metaphor for our whole relationship, really.
I'm in a Sims phase. I'm addicted to this Pets thing - I've adopted a unicorn and five cats and three dogs and some horses and birds and rats and snakes...it's awesome. (When I say I want to do nothing, that's what I really mean - I want to play Sims Pets.) I guess I'll go do that until he makes me do something else.
Happy Sunday!
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
Ain't got no water.
There's been water building up in the bottom of our refrigerator for months - we've replaced the ice maker and the seal around the doors and a whole slew of other things that Jimi did but I don't know what they are. (He wrote them on the whiteboard in the kitchen for the repairman, and I could totally go in there and tell you all about it, but I'm guessing you care about as much as I do, which is way less than the effort it's already taken to write this much about it.) Whew. Anyhow, this has been enough of a problem that we've been researching new fridges and tentatively calculating that purchase into our upcoming expenses. (Walk through a puddle in your kitchen floor in your footie-pajama'd feet and tell me what lengths you'd go to to make sure that didn't happen anymore.)
So today, the repairman came out. I pointed at the whiteboard and said "Have fun, I'll be on the porch" and I took my book and I went there. A few pages into my book, he came out and asked if I knew where the main water shut-off was.
Um.
Yes! Yes, I do! State Farm sent me a tag that said "Main Water Shut Off" or something like that right after we moved in, and I proudly identified the appropriate pipe and affixed the tag.
Of course, the main water shut-off lives in the deepest, darkest, dankest corner of the basement - the one where the BIG spiders live. It took every ounce of my self-control not to scream as I plunged my hand through the gauzy webs to reach the knob - that shit was straight out of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, yo. But I did it, I turned off the water, and proudly yelled up the stairs to the repairman. He said something about that not being the right one, something about "one quarter inch pipe" and in my head, i was looking at the pipe in front of me and trying to remember how measurements work...
The pipe he was looking for was the itty bitty copper one that comes out of the back of the fridge and down into the basement. It's way smaller than the main water line, turns out. But he told me to shut off the main water line, I swear on a stack of holy books. I watched him turn the little knob on the little copper pipe and then walked back over to the main shut-off and turned the water back on...
And water went spraying everywhere...or, it would've, if the cheesecloth-like webs hadn't contained most of it like an umbrella. As it was, it was going everywhere for a radius of like six inches, and then in a steady stream onto my basement floor. I watched, dumbfounded, as a puddle formed and crept toward the water heater. I shook myself, and tried to turn the knob back the other direction - the spray slowed, but didn't stop. The part, I don't know what it's called, but I knew it was broken. Fuck. I grabbed a towel and threw it onto the puddle, and then I felt dumb, because what the fuck was a towel going to do against the Louisville Water Company's supply for the South End? So I got a bucket, and then I felt like the fucking champion of the world, because when contained in a bucket, the spray and stream didn't seem quite so threatening.
I looked at the repairman and said, "This is bad, isn't it?" "Yeah." was his only response.
Fuck. I said that, too.
Back upstairs, I learned that while I'd been turning the knob hither and thither trying to make the water stop and finding towels and buckets and such, the repairman had located the MAIN main water shut-off - the one that apparently lives somewhere in my front yard between a tree and the curb, but I'm not sure which tree or which curb or where exactly...and neither is Jimi. (Oh, happy Time Change, everyone! It's dark at 6 now. That should make finding this mysterious MAIN shut-off a little more fun. As if this adventure wasn't fun enough.)
So Mr. Repairman had turned off the water to my home, and then he told me that he'd fixed my refrigerator - the drain line was clogged, so he blew it out, and now it's fine. All better. OH, and when he was pushing the fridge back into place, he broke the water line feeding the ice maker, so I'm going to need to get that replaced. And the thing with the main shut-off, of course. He apologized for the trouble, and presented me with a bill for $80.
"Um, so you broke my water line? Shouldn't you, I don't know, fix it?"
"Nope. That's YOUR plumbing. They don't even keep those parts on the truck."
Fuck.
Jimi came home early from work and got started on the fix, but right now, at 7 o'clock, there's no water in my house. He's at the hardware store, for the second time, getting something or another...and water.
Did I mention I started my period this morning? I wouldn't normally, but somehow, that just seems like the cherry on this fucking sundae.
At least I have beer. And processed, pre-packaged food. And we filled the pet water this morning before work. First World Problems, Natalie. First World Problems. I live in a place where even a lack of water is a temporary first world problem...but it sure feels good to bitch every now and then. :)
So today, the repairman came out. I pointed at the whiteboard and said "Have fun, I'll be on the porch" and I took my book and I went there. A few pages into my book, he came out and asked if I knew where the main water shut-off was.
Um.
Yes! Yes, I do! State Farm sent me a tag that said "Main Water Shut Off" or something like that right after we moved in, and I proudly identified the appropriate pipe and affixed the tag.
Of course, the main water shut-off lives in the deepest, darkest, dankest corner of the basement - the one where the BIG spiders live. It took every ounce of my self-control not to scream as I plunged my hand through the gauzy webs to reach the knob - that shit was straight out of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, yo. But I did it, I turned off the water, and proudly yelled up the stairs to the repairman. He said something about that not being the right one, something about "one quarter inch pipe" and in my head, i was looking at the pipe in front of me and trying to remember how measurements work...
The pipe he was looking for was the itty bitty copper one that comes out of the back of the fridge and down into the basement. It's way smaller than the main water line, turns out. But he told me to shut off the main water line, I swear on a stack of holy books. I watched him turn the little knob on the little copper pipe and then walked back over to the main shut-off and turned the water back on...
And water went spraying everywhere...or, it would've, if the cheesecloth-like webs hadn't contained most of it like an umbrella. As it was, it was going everywhere for a radius of like six inches, and then in a steady stream onto my basement floor. I watched, dumbfounded, as a puddle formed and crept toward the water heater. I shook myself, and tried to turn the knob back the other direction - the spray slowed, but didn't stop. The part, I don't know what it's called, but I knew it was broken. Fuck. I grabbed a towel and threw it onto the puddle, and then I felt dumb, because what the fuck was a towel going to do against the Louisville Water Company's supply for the South End? So I got a bucket, and then I felt like the fucking champion of the world, because when contained in a bucket, the spray and stream didn't seem quite so threatening.
I looked at the repairman and said, "This is bad, isn't it?" "Yeah." was his only response.
Fuck. I said that, too.
Back upstairs, I learned that while I'd been turning the knob hither and thither trying to make the water stop and finding towels and buckets and such, the repairman had located the MAIN main water shut-off - the one that apparently lives somewhere in my front yard between a tree and the curb, but I'm not sure which tree or which curb or where exactly...and neither is Jimi. (Oh, happy Time Change, everyone! It's dark at 6 now. That should make finding this mysterious MAIN shut-off a little more fun. As if this adventure wasn't fun enough.)
So Mr. Repairman had turned off the water to my home, and then he told me that he'd fixed my refrigerator - the drain line was clogged, so he blew it out, and now it's fine. All better. OH, and when he was pushing the fridge back into place, he broke the water line feeding the ice maker, so I'm going to need to get that replaced. And the thing with the main shut-off, of course. He apologized for the trouble, and presented me with a bill for $80.
"Um, so you broke my water line? Shouldn't you, I don't know, fix it?"
"Nope. That's YOUR plumbing. They don't even keep those parts on the truck."
Fuck.
Jimi came home early from work and got started on the fix, but right now, at 7 o'clock, there's no water in my house. He's at the hardware store, for the second time, getting something or another...and water.
Did I mention I started my period this morning? I wouldn't normally, but somehow, that just seems like the cherry on this fucking sundae.
At least I have beer. And processed, pre-packaged food. And we filled the pet water this morning before work. First World Problems, Natalie. First World Problems. I live in a place where even a lack of water is a temporary first world problem...but it sure feels good to bitch every now and then. :)
Saturday, October 29, 2011
I love Saturday.
Today is the best kind of Saturday; the sort where you have nowhere to be, no commitments to keep, no chores that MUST be completed. (Of course, there's always laundry and cleaning to be done, but I've been good this week and haven't let my house become a sty, so I can totally put off domestic chores until tomorrow. After all, isn't that why God made Sundays? So we can wash our dirty clothes and homes and prepare for the upcoming workweek?)
We've got a costume party scheduled tonight, which, contrary to what I said in that whole first paragraph, means I do have to hunt out my footie pajamas and wash them, and locate the gloves and ears and tail that make up my Max costume. Jimi's going to be a Wild Thing again - we spent a lot of time and money on those costumes last year, dammit, so yes, we're totally recycling. Besides, most of our friends never saw the costumes last year - just Karen and Gary and the crowd at the gay bar. (Speaking of which, remembering the gay bar last Halloween makes me REALLY want to go back. I wonder if they're open Monday night? Wanna go with me?)
I got up just after 6 all week long; sleeping in until after 8 today makes me feel spoiled and pampered. 8 is still REALLY early for a Saturday, but I like getting up early on the weekends - I can always take a nap in the middle of the day, for as long as I want, if I start to get yawn-y. Weekends are awesome.
I bought and downloaded The Sims 3 Pets last night. Jimi gave me some shit over it, saying it's stupid and dumb and a waste of money. And it is, but it entertains me and I enjoy it. And we have separate bank accounts so I can spend my money the way I want to spend it and he can't say shit about it, so maybe we've got a shot at this happily ever after thing. Cause last night, had our accounts been joint, I probably wouldn't have bought the game. And I would've been pissed about it. And I would still be pissed about it. And it would be all his fault. But he has his money and I have my money, and well, we're just going to keep it that way because it's safer. (I haven't played my new game yet, but I'm greatly anticipating diving in after I'm finished with this here blog post.)
I'm trying to take a picture or two every day of things that make me smile (or say WTF?). I like scrolling through them at the end of the week and remembering the little things that made up my otherwise mundane and routine week. With that being said...
And then there was the rest of the week:
My sink has been this empty all week. I'm not even lying. (If you don't know me personally, this is a really big deal. Huge, even.) I'm very proud of us for being so responsible and grown-up.
I've probably posted six dozen pictures of the shit that lives in my office at work, but here are some more:
We've got a costume party scheduled tonight, which, contrary to what I said in that whole first paragraph, means I do have to hunt out my footie pajamas and wash them, and locate the gloves and ears and tail that make up my Max costume. Jimi's going to be a Wild Thing again - we spent a lot of time and money on those costumes last year, dammit, so yes, we're totally recycling. Besides, most of our friends never saw the costumes last year - just Karen and Gary and the crowd at the gay bar. (Speaking of which, remembering the gay bar last Halloween makes me REALLY want to go back. I wonder if they're open Monday night? Wanna go with me?)
I got up just after 6 all week long; sleeping in until after 8 today makes me feel spoiled and pampered. 8 is still REALLY early for a Saturday, but I like getting up early on the weekends - I can always take a nap in the middle of the day, for as long as I want, if I start to get yawn-y. Weekends are awesome.
I bought and downloaded The Sims 3 Pets last night. Jimi gave me some shit over it, saying it's stupid and dumb and a waste of money. And it is, but it entertains me and I enjoy it. And we have separate bank accounts so I can spend my money the way I want to spend it and he can't say shit about it, so maybe we've got a shot at this happily ever after thing. Cause last night, had our accounts been joint, I probably wouldn't have bought the game. And I would've been pissed about it. And I would still be pissed about it. And it would be all his fault. But he has his money and I have my money, and well, we're just going to keep it that way because it's safer. (I haven't played my new game yet, but I'm greatly anticipating diving in after I'm finished with this here blog post.)
I'm trying to take a picture or two every day of things that make me smile (or say WTF?). I like scrolling through them at the end of the week and remembering the little things that made up my otherwise mundane and routine week. With that being said...
Pictures from the Karaoke bar last Friday night:
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| Think the dude in red was doing "No Diggity". The lady on the right was gettin' down. |
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| I met Sarah's friend Robbi for the first time, after hearing his name for years. We got along swimmingly. I stole the hat from Robbi's friend, but I eventually gave it back. |
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| chicks taking self-portraits in public bathroom mirrors. WTF? |
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| Oh here, random stranger, hold my phone and do this for us, will you? |
And then there was the rest of the week:
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| This bug just appeared out of nowhere, on the inside of my car. It's a good thing I was pulling into my driveway, otherwise this surprise could've had tragic consequences. |
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| Murphy the Office Dog. Doing his Buckwheat impression. |
I think it was Tuesday when I'd let Finn out back and he started going crazy at the corner of the breezeway. I walked over to him to see what the fuss was about, and this little guy scurried across the walkway and under my car. He was hanging out under the back tires first...
But he ran to the front when I tried to shoo him out...
And my next attempt resulted in this:
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| "I'm just gonna hang on the back of this here tire, and maybe she can't see me and will go away." That's what I did - I went away and left him alone and he found his home. |
.
The trees in our front yard have been so beautiful this week:
I made fire (and subsequently cut my finger and had to dig rust out of it and decided to get a tetanus shot).
The doctor's visit was cool, though. My appointment was at 8:15, and at 8:30, the doctor came out from the back with a bowl of cereal, crunching away happily on his breakfast as he chatted with another doctor's patient about their children, who apparently attend the same school. Fifteen minutes later, a nurse calls me back for intake and puts me in a room. 10 minutes after that, I see the doctor.
I want to be mad and be all "what the fuck, doc?" because I was missing work and getting behind and all I needed was a needle jabbed in my arm and when it came right down to it, the waiting time was three times as long as the treating time. But I really like my doctor. He's good, and he listens, and he takes notes on a computer, which I just really really love. I don't know, he came to me highly recommended and accepts my insurance and I feel like he's thorough and I like that I can get a same-day appointment if I'm sick as hell.
Anyhow, so I let him talk me into a flu shot. I've never had one of those, either, and I told him why: I don't get sick very often, and I haven't had anything that resembled the flu in years and years and years and I don't want to get a shot and get sick. He told me the flu shot is not for me, it is for those around me with compromised immune systems. And I thought of Stacy's baby, who's going to be born at the end of January, when everyone's got a runny nose and a cough, and how I want to kiss her new sweet face without worrying I'll give her some awful respiratory funkiness. He also told me that people don't get sick from the flu shot, and I decided to take his advice and believe him until I have a reason not to and so I let them give me two shots rather than the one I came for. Knock on wood, I'm 48 hours into it and nary a sniffle or chill has visited me.
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| Crossing the tracks to work. That's downtown Louisville there in the middle, that lit-up building. |
Sitting on my back step, with a book and a smoke, this is my view:
I've probably posted six dozen pictures of the shit that lives in my office at work, but here are some more:
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| The zombie is coming to get the monkeys. |
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| Pirate duck says fuck your zombies. And your dusty monitor. |
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| My Chick-fil-A boycott didn't last long. Their nuggets call to me in my sleep sometimes. |
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| This My Little Pony dates from my childhood. |
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| Hi Kimmie! |
There was frost on the ground this morning.
Winter, I'm going to need you to hold off for a few more weeks, okay? I'm not ready for serious cold yet.
Happy Weekend!
Sunday, August 28, 2011
I think my scale is a broken liar.
Today it says I'm back to where I was Friday, down 4.4 pounds for the week. Of course, 20 minutes later, it added on another pound, but I'll be damned if I'm claiming that extra pound. I'm trying now to decide if the scale was lying yesterday or if it's lying today. I'm guessing my bad choices and over indulgence last night are coming back to haunt me, which is why the numbers moved up instead of down this morning.
Oh well. Today's a new day. And my inches shrunk - not by much, but enough to make me not drown my scale-related sorrows in a tub of ice cream.
And for the record, I didn't do THAT badly yesterday - I was very good at the fair and only had half a corn dog and an ear of roasted corn (no butter, no salt - not because I was depriving myself, but because that's the way I always eat corn on the cob). But...I thought all the walking I did and my good behavior for the week justified a splurge of fast food calories for dinner. And then I made chocolate-covered frozen banana bites and ate a few more than I probably should've. Bad Natalie! Bad!
Oh well. Now I know what a bad idea that was and I won't make the same mistake again. And today's yard-mowing day...do you know how many calories are waiting to be burned in my 3/4 acre lot? A whole freakin' bunch, that's how many.
I'm going to have to mow around this, though:
Oh well. Today's a new day. And my inches shrunk - not by much, but enough to make me not drown my scale-related sorrows in a tub of ice cream.
And for the record, I didn't do THAT badly yesterday - I was very good at the fair and only had half a corn dog and an ear of roasted corn (no butter, no salt - not because I was depriving myself, but because that's the way I always eat corn on the cob). But...I thought all the walking I did and my good behavior for the week justified a splurge of fast food calories for dinner. And then I made chocolate-covered frozen banana bites and ate a few more than I probably should've. Bad Natalie! Bad!
Oh well. Now I know what a bad idea that was and I won't make the same mistake again. And today's yard-mowing day...do you know how many calories are waiting to be burned in my 3/4 acre lot? A whole freakin' bunch, that's how many.
I'm going to have to mow around this, though:
I'm not sure what happened - it was fine Friday night, but this is what it looked like Saturday morning. No storms or hurricanes or tornadoes rolled through - I guess it was just this branch's time to go. Our good friend Steve happens to be an Arborist, and he's kindly offered to come over today and help make the problem go away, which is awesome because I hear tree people are very expensive.
In other non-fat-related news, Jimi bought me a new pair of shoes yesterday. He does that about twice a year, because he's a shoe whore and I am the opposite - I will wear a pair of shoes every single day until they are falling apart around my feet. So he bought me new shoes, with the logic that if I have several pairs of athletic shoes to choose from, I won't wear the same pair every single day and completely ruin them. (Secretly, I think he was just itching to spend some money - the tax-credit check for the house (the one we closed on almost 2 years ago) finally arrived this past week. Also, all shoes were buy one, get one half off, and he was already buying a pair for him, so you know, he had to buy a second pair. HAD to.)
Today's Comment Love Day over at FTLOB.
I'm going to go say hi to some new blogs, and then I'm gonna walk the dog and earn some extra calories for the day. Happy Sunday!
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Just another Tuesday night...
"Drink my likker from an ol' fruit jar." (Apparently that's a line from an Elvis song. I thought he made it up. Good thing he corrected me when he saw me reach for the computer. Whatever. Now he's drinking his 15 year scotch from the ol' fruit jar. He's classy, that man of mine.)
"There ain't no flowers. They got burnt up in the flood." "OF SUNSHINE!!!"
"There aren't any flowers - they all burned up in the flood of sunshine."
"The flowers were all wilted and gone, burned up in the flood of sunshine."
Creativity pours from this house.
"There ain't no flowers. They got burnt up in the flood." "OF SUNSHINE!!!"
"There aren't any flowers - they all burned up in the flood of sunshine."
"The flowers were all wilted and gone, burned up in the flood of sunshine."
Creativity pours from this house.
Okay, some are wilted and gone, or never to be at all.
But some still hold promise.
Some are still there.
O Hai Dog n' Cat.
I'm trying to convince Jimi that my collection will be worth something one day.
What's the current scrap value of beer bottles?
O HAI, more flowers that haven't burned up in the flood.
Maybe I am watering them enough, Steven.
MOAR? NO WAI!
Ukulele at rest.
Ukulele at play.
He can't stop raging about my split pea soup, which is awesome, because it's the first time I've ever made it, and it's the first time he's ever had it. What a win! I don't know if I did it right, and he doesn't know if I did it wrong! YAY!
Saturday, July 30, 2011
My soul feels happy.
(Friday)
I decided sitting around the house all day would be a complete and total waste of a perfectly good off day - I should take advantage of the freedom to do whatever I want and do the things I fantasize about when I'm stuck in the office. So. I took a long, leisurely, hot shower. I got dressed up in a sun dress that I'd never dream of wearing to work (except that one Saturday when I had to go in for an hour - it was the middle of my weekend day and I wasn't changing into jeans, dammit). I put on mascara and took the extra time to blow-dry my hair. (No products or styling - we're not getting fancy or anything.) I packed up the laptop and my camera and my sunglasses and I hit the road.
I spent my morning debating if I should stay put and keep watching movies on FX (I caught the end of Seven Pounds, and then the beginning of The Family Stone) or get up and get moving and go get some brunch. (One of my Facebook friends said "brunch", and I'm very much a monkey-see, monkey-do sort, so I immediately had visions of lemon souffle pancakes topped with blueberry compote and vanilla custard dancing through my head. And bacon. It's not brunch without bacon.) But I debated too long and then it was closer to lunch time and then the lightbulb came on! It's Friday! Lobster Bisque Friday!!! Every Friday (and some Saturdays, too), The Bodega at Felice serves up their delicious lobster bisque, much to my delight. Even though they have this soup every week, it's a special treat for me when I get to partake, so when it was quickly moving from brunch time to lunch time, I knew where I was going to start my day. (Plus, they have wifi, and I wanted to sit and catch up on my reading - it's amazing how quickly the entries multiply in my Google Reader if I skip a day or two.)
The soup was delicious; the rosemary ham & goat cheese sandwich was "eh", only because I got one of those extra chewy white bites of ham (do you have any idea what I'm talking about?) and it sorta ruined the whole experience for me because I have weird food issues like that. I've got some work I should do, but I may put that off because, well, who wants to think about IRP licenses when it's beautiful outside? Tonight, sweet Jimi and I have a hot date in Brandenburg - to feed his brother's cat. It'll be awesome.
I decided sitting around the house all day would be a complete and total waste of a perfectly good off day - I should take advantage of the freedom to do whatever I want and do the things I fantasize about when I'm stuck in the office. So. I took a long, leisurely, hot shower. I got dressed up in a sun dress that I'd never dream of wearing to work (except that one Saturday when I had to go in for an hour - it was the middle of my weekend day and I wasn't changing into jeans, dammit). I put on mascara and took the extra time to blow-dry my hair. (No products or styling - we're not getting fancy or anything.) I packed up the laptop and my camera and my sunglasses and I hit the road.
I spent my morning debating if I should stay put and keep watching movies on FX (I caught the end of Seven Pounds, and then the beginning of The Family Stone) or get up and get moving and go get some brunch. (One of my Facebook friends said "brunch", and I'm very much a monkey-see, monkey-do sort, so I immediately had visions of lemon souffle pancakes topped with blueberry compote and vanilla custard dancing through my head. And bacon. It's not brunch without bacon.) But I debated too long and then it was closer to lunch time and then the lightbulb came on! It's Friday! Lobster Bisque Friday!!! Every Friday (and some Saturdays, too), The Bodega at Felice serves up their delicious lobster bisque, much to my delight. Even though they have this soup every week, it's a special treat for me when I get to partake, so when it was quickly moving from brunch time to lunch time, I knew where I was going to start my day. (Plus, they have wifi, and I wanted to sit and catch up on my reading - it's amazing how quickly the entries multiply in my Google Reader if I skip a day or two.)
The soup was delicious; the rosemary ham & goat cheese sandwich was "eh", only because I got one of those extra chewy white bites of ham (do you have any idea what I'm talking about?) and it sorta ruined the whole experience for me because I have weird food issues like that. I've got some work I should do, but I may put that off because, well, who wants to think about IRP licenses when it's beautiful outside? Tonight, sweet Jimi and I have a hot date in Brandenburg - to feed his brother's cat. It'll be awesome.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
(Saturday)
Our hot date was awesome - we played darts and had pizza sticks and corn dogs.
I got up this morning intending to mow the entire yard before the sun got too high in the sky and the humidity made it impossible to breathe. I'd made about 6 passes, which doesn't sound like much but is actually probably the equivalent of cutting a normal-sized yard (but doesn't make much of a dent in my gargantuan green space), and the mower died. I checked the gas - there was still fuel. I crouched down to twist off the oil cap - but I heard a sizzle and suddenly felt a sting on my right knee. I jump up and back and looked at the offended appendage - there was an inch and a half long welt reddening up, and I could see a space in the center where about an inch of skin was ripped off. I'd touched my knee to the hot part, like a jackass. D'oh!
I was done then. I came inside determined to sit on my butt the rest of the day, but then Jimi figured out the piece of crap mower really did just want more gas, so when he got it going again, I decided to continue my quest for a neat lawn and jumped right back on that horse. I didn't do the whole thing, but I probably left only a third for Jimi, and then I even showered, so I'm feeling pretty accomplished for 10:30 on a Saturday morning.
I feel pretty damn good these days. I'm almost broke, but never quite there, even though I'm putting every extra dime toward debt with the goal of being 100% debt free by September 1st. (Knock on wood my car or the dish washer or the fridge or something else expensive doesn't break between now and then.) I haven't been doing any exercise, which is probably why I feel so awesome from the yard-mowing-sweat-fest this morning. I haven't been super careful about my eating, either, so I've not made any progress on my fitting-into-a-smaller-dress-size-by-October goal - but I've got two months and I'm going to work harder and do better, I swear. Jimi's awesome and loving and perfect as always, and the baby-making part of my brain has STFU for now, knowing that getting pregnant now, when I have to wear a size-too-small bridesmaid dress in two months, probably wouldn't be such a great idea. Whatever works, man, whatever works. Work hasn't made me super pissed off or cry-y for at least a week. My family's doing alright, my friends are fine. Life is pretty fucking good, and I have no idea what I've done to deserve this much joy. (We didn't win the lottery last night, though. Dang.)
I hope your weekend is fantastic and full of your favorite people and your favorite things and so much happiness you feel like you're going to overflow with it. Happy Saturday!
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Mostly about a park
So far, my weekend's been exactly what I wanted - full of nothing. YAY! I was looking forward to a birthday gathering last night, but by the time 7 o'clock rolled around, I was tired from the grocery shopping we'd done and the idea of worrying about clothes and makeup and whatnot just seemed like too much. So I sat on my butt and played on the computer some more.
Yesterday was sunny and not too hot and gorgeous - probably one of the nicest days we've had this year. Finn and I took a long walk through the park right after we got up - one of these days I'm going to take my camera with me when we go over there so I can show you how awesome this park is. It's green and leafy and full of walking paths - broken concrete paths through the shaded open spaces, gravel paths through the woods, a road blocked to car traffic that goes all the way around the hill and then up to the top, where there's a lookout from which you can see downtown. This park has memories going back to my early childhood - the year Daddy took us to the top to watch Thunder Over Louisville, the world's largest fireworks display that kicks off the Derby festivities each year; hiking to the top in the dark with David one night during a full moon - he took his shirt off and laid in the middle of the road and said he was working on his moontan; the time I picked up the Girls and we took the long way to the top, complete with a box cutter and a screwdriver as protection (just in case), and then nearly had a gun pulled on us when we arrived back at our car - the cops must've thought we 4 girls looked pretty dangerous, coming out of the woods at 2 a.m. (Kat threw the box cutter - she had a government security clearance and was afraid a weapon could make things worse if the cop decided to be a dick and take us to jail for trespassing.) Steve Burcham introduced my teenage mind to tales of satanic rituals and sacrifices made in the woods, stories of bodies being abandoned along the side of the road to be found by joggers and bikers the next day.
This park is one of those places that is ingrained into me - it's a part of my formative years and memories made there will follow me forever - even if Daddy is the only one who ever went there with me who's still a part of my life. It was unbelievable when I discovered the house we were looking at buying, the one I loved so much, was right across the street from this magical, mystical place from my past. And it's so much cooler now! There's an amphitheater that hosts concerts during the summer - like REO Speedwagon and Sublime - concerts that can be heard from my front porch. (Or, if I want to hear from even closer, I can walk into the park, stand outside next to the amphitheater, and get the full sound effect - that's my plan for the Sublime concert, FYI. Is that considered theft? Please say no.) On Monday nights, the theater hosts Monday Night Movies - this week it's Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. There are pavilions with picnic tables and grills that can be reserved for $25, or they're available on a first come, first serve basis if they're not reserved. There's a huge playground complete with splash park that makes me jealous I'm not a little girl anymore - the fun I could've had there!!! There's a disc golf course that brings inweed smokers disc golfers from all over the region.
Of course, Finn and I only use the park for walking. Well, I rode my bike around the hill once, but I thought I might die when I finished and while I swore I'd keep doing it until it was easy...well, I've only done it once. The park is too hilly for bike riding; at least for me - I'll leave it to those guys with really skinny tires and spandex. It's a great place for walking, though - there are so many trees, and you know what that means, right? SQUIRRELS!! They're everywhere, and they're a little more brave in the park than they are even in our yard - Finn almost catches one every time. (But still hasn't gotten that first one, for which I'm glad, because what in the hell do you do with a squirrel once your dog gets a hold of it? Can't even fathom.)
I'd like to walk again today, but it's rainy and yucky outside and so I guess I'll spend my day cleaning my yucky house. Bleh, housework. Oh well - the sun will be out again soon enough.
Happy Sunday, Friends!
Yesterday was sunny and not too hot and gorgeous - probably one of the nicest days we've had this year. Finn and I took a long walk through the park right after we got up - one of these days I'm going to take my camera with me when we go over there so I can show you how awesome this park is. It's green and leafy and full of walking paths - broken concrete paths through the shaded open spaces, gravel paths through the woods, a road blocked to car traffic that goes all the way around the hill and then up to the top, where there's a lookout from which you can see downtown. This park has memories going back to my early childhood - the year Daddy took us to the top to watch Thunder Over Louisville, the world's largest fireworks display that kicks off the Derby festivities each year; hiking to the top in the dark with David one night during a full moon - he took his shirt off and laid in the middle of the road and said he was working on his moontan; the time I picked up the Girls and we took the long way to the top, complete with a box cutter and a screwdriver as protection (just in case), and then nearly had a gun pulled on us when we arrived back at our car - the cops must've thought we 4 girls looked pretty dangerous, coming out of the woods at 2 a.m. (Kat threw the box cutter - she had a government security clearance and was afraid a weapon could make things worse if the cop decided to be a dick and take us to jail for trespassing.) Steve Burcham introduced my teenage mind to tales of satanic rituals and sacrifices made in the woods, stories of bodies being abandoned along the side of the road to be found by joggers and bikers the next day.
This park is one of those places that is ingrained into me - it's a part of my formative years and memories made there will follow me forever - even if Daddy is the only one who ever went there with me who's still a part of my life. It was unbelievable when I discovered the house we were looking at buying, the one I loved so much, was right across the street from this magical, mystical place from my past. And it's so much cooler now! There's an amphitheater that hosts concerts during the summer - like REO Speedwagon and Sublime - concerts that can be heard from my front porch. (Or, if I want to hear from even closer, I can walk into the park, stand outside next to the amphitheater, and get the full sound effect - that's my plan for the Sublime concert, FYI. Is that considered theft? Please say no.) On Monday nights, the theater hosts Monday Night Movies - this week it's Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. There are pavilions with picnic tables and grills that can be reserved for $25, or they're available on a first come, first serve basis if they're not reserved. There's a huge playground complete with splash park that makes me jealous I'm not a little girl anymore - the fun I could've had there!!! There's a disc golf course that brings in
Of course, Finn and I only use the park for walking. Well, I rode my bike around the hill once, but I thought I might die when I finished and while I swore I'd keep doing it until it was easy...well, I've only done it once. The park is too hilly for bike riding; at least for me - I'll leave it to those guys with really skinny tires and spandex. It's a great place for walking, though - there are so many trees, and you know what that means, right? SQUIRRELS!! They're everywhere, and they're a little more brave in the park than they are even in our yard - Finn almost catches one every time. (But still hasn't gotten that first one, for which I'm glad, because what in the hell do you do with a squirrel once your dog gets a hold of it? Can't even fathom.)
I'd like to walk again today, but it's rainy and yucky outside and so I guess I'll spend my day cleaning my yucky house. Bleh, housework. Oh well - the sun will be out again soon enough.
Happy Sunday, Friends!
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Yesterday was Monday. Today is Friday.
That's how it was supposed to go down this week - no work Monday, Thursday, Friday. But I have to work a little tomorrow; I didn't get it all done today. I'm going to go in early, knock 'er out, and then come home and fix the dryer.
Oh yeah. The dryer. I went after work to buy the heating element. It's $59.65 plus tax, and it's not returnable. The guy behind the counter, who's obviously done this a time or two, looked at me over top of his glasses and said, "Have you done this before?"
I scoffed. I couldn't help it. "Do I look like I've done this before?" I wanted to ask. Or, "I just said 'This is my first attempt at appliance repair...', but sure, I could see how you'd think I'm a pro, what with my blank stare and detailed, expert description of how the hot doesn't work." I didn't really say any of that, of course; I said, "No, I've never done anything like this before" and he said "Are you sure it's the heating element?"
Motherfuck. No, okay! I'm NOT sure it's the heating element! But Jimi said it's the heating element and Jimi's usually right about everything, so I'm pretty sure he's right about this.
"Um. Not exactly? It spins but it doesn't get hot." Again with the expert descriptoring.
"Well, it could be one of the thermostats or the dumaflicky or the thingamawhatsit or the whobamersnagger or the heating element. We have all the parts, and they're all non-returnable." How these people talk to people like me every day without rolling their eyes over and over and over again is beyond me; but then, they exude the same warm fuzzy feeling with their tone of voice, so maybe I'm not missing much from the actual eye-rolling experience.
He flipped over the piece of notebook paper where I'd scribbled the numbers from the label I found on the front of the dryer - one of them was a model number and the other was a secret code to the location of the ark of the covenant, I'm pretty sure. Anyhow, he drew me a picture. It was beautiful, with flowers and shit; okay, I'm making that up - he drew the back of my dryer. And showed me with dark lines where the thermostats and dumaflickies and thingamawhatsits and whobamersnaggers live. Apparently there are lots of things that can break the hot on your dryer. And of course, we'd not yet bothered to pull off the back cover and actually inspect the inside guts of the dryer - Jimi said it was the heating element. I don't know from where he pulled this not-all-that-educated guess, but, as I've said before, he's generally right about most things, so I generally go with whatever he says.
So Mr. Appliance Parts is drawing me a picture of my dryer and telling me why it's probably not the heating element and convincing me that my genius boyfriend is an idiot when it comes to dryers, and I say, "So you're saying I need to call someone who knows what they're doing, right?" He pulled the new, sealed-in-box heating element from the now-unsealed box and showed me what to look for to determine if the heating element was indeed the culprit.
I left certain I'd be buying a new dryer at the Best Buy in the morning.
BUT! But, there is a but! Jimi got home from work, and I told this tale to Jimi, and so Jimi pulled out the dryer, removed the back cover, removed the housing from the heating element...
Lo and Behold, the coils were broken, just like little buddy at the parts shop had told me to expect - the heating element was the problem! YAY!
I'll stop at the shop on my way home from work in the morning, pick up the part, and we'll be back in laundry business before noon. Don't you just love a cheap happy ending?
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Rambling Right Along
Walking upstairs in my house right now feels like putting on a foam bodysuit made of electric blanket - it starts at your head, and engulfs more of you with each step you take up the stairs. The heat, the thickness and the dry smell of it, it fills every place that isn't touching something else - the gap between my breasts and the bodice of the dress I'm wearing, the space between my torso and inner arm about midway between my shoulders and my elbows (because my upper arms are fat and glide along nice and snug next to the fabric of my dress), then the rest of my arms, the spaces between my cupped fingers and the palms of my hands, my hips, my bare legs, and then up between my thighs and my skirt. Even my toes can feel the resistance.
But then! But then I turn the corner in the hallway, pass the shrine of photographs from D.C. with which I've adorned the passageway, and move the heavy curtain of fabric Jimi rigged up to act as a barrier between the oppressive heat and the light, breathable air of the window-air-conditioned nook where we spend our non-sleeping/showering/cooking time. And then that coat of hot that's enveloped me, it falls off from the front to the back, and maybe I might stand there for a moment or two, feeling the mixing of the seasons, the whoosh of hot and cold across my skin, raising the hairs on my neck and making my nipples hard, before I swish the curtain back closed, making sure there are no gaps for the precious expensive electrically cooled air to escape into the sucking heat of the hallway and stairwell.
(The entire downstairs has central air, but the fucking raccoon that lives in our attic has wreaked havoc on the ductwork upstairs. We spent thousands last summer trying to cool these rooms using the separate HVAC system up here - only to learn that the cool air was being pumped directly into the crawl spaces of the attic, rather than through the vents that fed the liveable rooms. Our solution has been to ignore the ductwork, turn off the upstairs AC, install the window unit that came with the house and hang a curtain to keep in the cold air. Or we could've left the TV downstairs. But there's an electrical issue down there and I have a lot of knicknacks in the other room down there so DON'T BE LOGICAL WITH ME!!!)
I like our little nook up here. It's cozy and warm when the outside is cold, and thanks to that window unit, it's comfortably cool when the weather's warm.
******************
I've got the Mormon fascination kickin' again, brought on after conversations with an old new friend who's left the church, the release of the cast recording of The Book of Mormon, and a long conversation with my boss about Kolob and food storage. I just love Mormons.
I've been trying to listen to the cast recording for two days now, but I've been foiled by life - visits from friends on Monday and a fight with my beloved last night. (The fight only lasted a few minutes, but I was an asshole and in attempt to make up for it I agreed to watch a movie with him, which meant giving up the computer for the night because our blu-ray player is jacked up so movies can only be instantly watched by connecting the laptop to the TV. Have I mentioned how I have a hard time paying attention to any one thing for an extended amount of time? Fortunately, the movie didn't suck and cuddling with Jimi is always good.) Tonight was going to be the night I got past 12 minutes 35 seconds, I was determined - after all, I only needed an hour and eight minutes total.
I got home from work, popped open a beer, opened the browser and hit the play button. Then I got distracted by shiny emails and facebook messages and Jimi coming home from work; I'd made it eighteen minutes into the production. Jimi wasn't interested in listening along with me, so I dug out the earbuds. Then I remembered the facebook post I read earlier today talking about how sitting is killing us and decided I may as well use the treadmill while I listen. I moved the laptop to the basement, staged on the ironing board and an old rubbermaid tote so the short cord on the earbuds wouldn't tangle and pull the whole works onto the concrete floor. I went upstairs and dug out some shorty socks and stripped out of my work clothes. I put on the socks and my running shoes...and Jimi said "you should just walk naked" and since I was already naked I decided that's what I'd do. And so I did. I walked and jogged, naked, on my treadmill for half an hour, listening to the raunchy South Park-esque "The Book of Mormon", drinking a can of Bud Light between exercises with my two-pound hand weights.
Notice how I only walked for half an hour? And how I said earlier the musical is an hour and 8 minutes? The treadmill died - the surge protector popped and my feet came to a stop while the rest of me kept moving. I think maybe it's done this once before, and I hope it's temporary. I think it'll be fine, and on that assumption I'm planning to get up at 6 a.m. to walk and listen to the other half of the story. I'll get through this tale, dammit, I will!
******************
Jimi said last night that there are two of me, Natalie and Bratalie. The bitch of it is, he wasn't wrong. I hate it when I have to admit that I've acted like a spoiled child, or worse, an asshole.
******************
It's a lot easier to write when the TV's not on.
But then! But then I turn the corner in the hallway, pass the shrine of photographs from D.C. with which I've adorned the passageway, and move the heavy curtain of fabric Jimi rigged up to act as a barrier between the oppressive heat and the light, breathable air of the window-air-conditioned nook where we spend our non-sleeping/showering/cooking time. And then that coat of hot that's enveloped me, it falls off from the front to the back, and maybe I might stand there for a moment or two, feeling the mixing of the seasons, the whoosh of hot and cold across my skin, raising the hairs on my neck and making my nipples hard, before I swish the curtain back closed, making sure there are no gaps for the precious expensive electrically cooled air to escape into the sucking heat of the hallway and stairwell.
(The entire downstairs has central air, but the fucking raccoon that lives in our attic has wreaked havoc on the ductwork upstairs. We spent thousands last summer trying to cool these rooms using the separate HVAC system up here - only to learn that the cool air was being pumped directly into the crawl spaces of the attic, rather than through the vents that fed the liveable rooms. Our solution has been to ignore the ductwork, turn off the upstairs AC, install the window unit that came with the house and hang a curtain to keep in the cold air. Or we could've left the TV downstairs. But there's an electrical issue down there and I have a lot of knicknacks in the other room down there so DON'T BE LOGICAL WITH ME!!!)
I like our little nook up here. It's cozy and warm when the outside is cold, and thanks to that window unit, it's comfortably cool when the weather's warm.
******************
I've got the Mormon fascination kickin' again, brought on after conversations with an old new friend who's left the church, the release of the cast recording of The Book of Mormon, and a long conversation with my boss about Kolob and food storage. I just love Mormons.
I've been trying to listen to the cast recording for two days now, but I've been foiled by life - visits from friends on Monday and a fight with my beloved last night. (The fight only lasted a few minutes, but I was an asshole and in attempt to make up for it I agreed to watch a movie with him, which meant giving up the computer for the night because our blu-ray player is jacked up so movies can only be instantly watched by connecting the laptop to the TV. Have I mentioned how I have a hard time paying attention to any one thing for an extended amount of time? Fortunately, the movie didn't suck and cuddling with Jimi is always good.) Tonight was going to be the night I got past 12 minutes 35 seconds, I was determined - after all, I only needed an hour and eight minutes total.
I got home from work, popped open a beer, opened the browser and hit the play button. Then I got distracted by shiny emails and facebook messages and Jimi coming home from work; I'd made it eighteen minutes into the production. Jimi wasn't interested in listening along with me, so I dug out the earbuds. Then I remembered the facebook post I read earlier today talking about how sitting is killing us and decided I may as well use the treadmill while I listen. I moved the laptop to the basement, staged on the ironing board and an old rubbermaid tote so the short cord on the earbuds wouldn't tangle and pull the whole works onto the concrete floor. I went upstairs and dug out some shorty socks and stripped out of my work clothes. I put on the socks and my running shoes...and Jimi said "you should just walk naked" and since I was already naked I decided that's what I'd do. And so I did. I walked and jogged, naked, on my treadmill for half an hour, listening to the raunchy South Park-esque "The Book of Mormon", drinking a can of Bud Light between exercises with my two-pound hand weights.
Notice how I only walked for half an hour? And how I said earlier the musical is an hour and 8 minutes? The treadmill died - the surge protector popped and my feet came to a stop while the rest of me kept moving. I think maybe it's done this once before, and I hope it's temporary. I think it'll be fine, and on that assumption I'm planning to get up at 6 a.m. to walk and listen to the other half of the story. I'll get through this tale, dammit, I will!
******************
Jimi said last night that there are two of me, Natalie and Bratalie. The bitch of it is, he wasn't wrong. I hate it when I have to admit that I've acted like a spoiled child, or worse, an asshole.
******************
It's a lot easier to write when the TV's not on.
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