I hate socks. Okay, maybe it's not so much socks that suck, but the tediousness of matching up 20 zillion pairs, all in different styles, of white socks. And no, these are not my socks, but Jeremy's socks. For years, I have refused to wear socks--that's how much I despise, loathe, detest matching up socks. However, given our new heating scenario (aka no central heat), I, sadly, have had to do away with the no sock usage to keep my feet from becoming something akin to frozen fish sticks (yes, I am admitting that, even while cold, my feet can be a tiny bit smelly. I don't know why, but they still sweat in my shoes).
Therefore, I have developed my own sock theory, a theory I believe would make millions of people incredibly happy if they also were to adopt it. Despite what Jeremy says about my socks, the theory is brilliant (as are the socks). Without further ado, I will impart the incredible wisdom and brilliance of my sock theory.
1. Never Buy White Socks
White socks are bad. Everyone should know this by now anyway. Which socks always disappear when you do laundry? White socks. I think there is a covert white sock convention somewhere. They're all sitting around drinking margaritas on the beach trying to get a tan. Can you blame them? They are white and pasty all the time. Well, at least until someone walks outside through dirt in them (not me. I'd never steal a pair of Jeremy's socks because I had none of my own, then wander outside to dump garbage in the bin). I think what they are secretly looking for is a little bit of color, no matter if it is dirt, because once dirty, no amount of bleach is going to get them clean. Trust me. I know. I'm now up to about half a jug of bleach per load of white laundry, and they still come out stained.
2. Buy the Ugliest Socks You Can Find
Let's face it. Socks are boring. (And yes, I'm writing a whole blog about socks--I suppose that might say something about me. Based upon my own Freudian analysis of myself, I must dislike . . . hmmm. No wonder I think Freud is overrated. Could also explain why no one's delved into a psychoanalytic sock theory.) Everyone buys the same types of socks. If they're not white, they're tan, brown, dark blue, or black. Boring! I don't think seasonal depression is based on the actual changing of the seasons, but rather the fact that people are stuck, for umpteen months, staring at the horribly bland and dreary socks they wear. If you want to be in a good mood, you must buy the ugliest socks you can find. This means no monotone socks! Your socks must have not only a wide variety of colors that should never go together, but also a wide variety of patterns. Stripes, polka dots, diamonds, little pictures--you get the idea. There is nothing that can brighten a mood faster than looking down at your feet and catching a glimpse of chartreuse, fuschia, and lemon yellow spots leaping off a purple background.
Not only will it cheer you up, but also anyone who sees the socks can't help but comment on them. You don't know how many times I have seen Jeremy stop, look at my feet, and ask what the hell I'm wearing. And this from a man who doesn't even like feet (especially when I purposefully touch him with my feet--never seen anyone jerk away so fast in my life! Okay, so maybe that falls into another blog topic of "Spousal Torture: Things that Annoy Him/Her that Amuse the Crap Out of You"). My current favorites are a striped pair: purple, pink, orange, and white stripes. Are they ugly? Well, they say beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Besides, I have no problem finding my matches in the laundry.
3. The Fuzzier the Better
Find the thickest, fuzziest, ugliest socks you can. This brings about the optimum pleasure for all. First, for you, the softer and fuzzier, the better they feel on your feet. It's sort of like walking around on a trampoline. There's just a certain bounce to your step, partially from the added thickness and partially for the dazzling color variety they come in.
A few precautions though, if you are buying your first pairs of thick, fuzzy socks. These are things I have learned from personal experience, so I am the expert. Make sure your socks don't have those hospital track things on the bottom. While they might seem like a good idea--after all, they're supposed to keep you from sliding on slick floors--they aren't. Every time you walk, you feel the little bumps under your feet, and it makes you feel like you have something stuck in your sock that you need to dig out. Unfortunately, no amount of tearing fully removes these little bumps, which, in turn, renders the socks virtually unuseable (unless you want some interesting sock puppets). Besides, what's the fun of a slick floor if you can't just slide wherever you want to go?
The next precaution? Make sure the fuzzies on the socks don't easily come off. This just makes more work than you really want and detracts from the pleasure. Instead of happily contemplating your socks, you instead find yourself watching little blobs of fuzz float around the house. Then the cat gets in on the fun. Thirteen pounds of cat at a 10 mile per hour speed chasing an endless amount of fuzzies across hardwood floor, followed by a 65 pound dog who thinks the cat might have found something exciting (Audrey never learns) makes for a lot of noise and activity breaking into your peaceful solitude. On top of that, when you wash them, the fuzzies cling, or maybe a better word is fuse themselves, to every other piece of laundry in the load. You might be thinking, "Well, obviously, they would all end up in the lint trap eventually." Don't think it. You are wrong. They never end up in the lint trap. There is some sort of magnetic force that repells brilliantly colored fuzzies from the lint trap and sends them spinning into any piece of clothing that contains the exact opposite colors of the fuzzies.
Finally, a third precaution--make sure your fuzzy socks aren't made of the really loopy strings. Yes, these are still warm, thick, and contain a brilliant kaleidoscope of wonderfully contrasting colors, just like all the other socks. However, whenever you walk over something very rough, at least one of the loopy strings is going to get stuck on whatever is sticking out (tiny piece of wood sticking up from the floor, pen on a chair, hinge on the edge of the door . . .). Just as soon as it gets stuck, the loopy strings in the sock start unraveling. Then, oh look! Here comes the cat. Followed by the dog. Followed by the other dog. . .
In other words, what I'm saying is that much thought and care must go into your selection of fuzzy socks. Can you just look at a pair with smiley faces on a hot pink background and snatch them up? NO! You must think about the consequences. Okay, so in some cases, you just have to weigh the consequences over the beauty of the pattern. Sometimes, the socks are just not going to be pratical, and the pattern will win. I can't be a Nazi about this when I know that if I found the above described socks, no matter how much fuzz or how many strings they would bleed, I would be taking them home.
4. Holiday Socks: The Dos and Don'ts
Holiday socks are a must! There is nothing tackier -- er, more beautiful-- than holiday socks. We all get holiday socks. We have a stash of holiday socks. They pile up. We can't get rid of them because they are new socks, and they were a gift. We can't regift them because, well, they're holiday socks. I realize only the truly brave can do this, but you must embrace the holiday sock! There is no sock that sends quite the same message as the holiday sock (get back to me later on what that message actually is). They are distinctive, always proudly displaying a unique repeating picture (you know, unique--pumpkins, Christmas Trees, hearts, Easter bunnies. . .). In order to completely immerse yourself, completely absorb the sock theory, you must wear holiday socks!
However, there is only one way you can be "cool," while wearing holiday socks. You can NEVER, and I repeat NEVER (notice the emphasis here. If you take one sock theory away from this radically revolutionary post, it must be this one), wear holiday socks for their correct holiday. Halloween socks for Valentine's Day? Yes! Christmas socks for the 4th of July? Yes! St. Patrick's Day socks for Thanksgiving? Yes! Easter socks for Easter? Noooo! That would be a travesty that would make you irremediably unchic. This is the worst sock sin you could ever commit! You simply cannot wear a holiday sock for its appropriate holiday!
5. Do Not Match
Last but not least, your socks should never match the clothes you are wearing. Coordinating an outfit is perfectly fine. Coordinating your socks to that outfit just puts you right back in the boring category. The reason for this is that you've now deemphasized your socks. They are no longer important, so who's going to bother looking at them? I know I wouldn't bother. Why is it so important not to match? Think of all the cheer, entertainment, and conversation you're adding to both your life and others' lives through your socks. What happens to all that when your socks match, and no one's looking at them? Gone! All gone! You might as well have just bought those monotonous, white socks. You're right back at square one, which obviously also makes you uncool again. So, if you're wearing purple, make sure your socks contain no purple! If you're wearing black . . . you get the idea.
Concluding Remarks
I know what you're thinking now. The sock theory is revolutionary! If you follow, it will change your life! You will gain wealth. You'd be amazed at how cheap ugly socks are. You will gain happiness. Never again will you desperate search through 50 white socks to find that one match. Never again will you look at your feet and feel depressed. You will gain companionship and conversation. Every time you wear a pair, someone is bound to talk to you. You will gain self confidence and assertiveness. What else could you gain after continually having your socks made fun of? Friends will envy you for your keen and edgy fashion sense. The benefits are innumerable!
Now that I've outlined the sock theory, it's up to you to take control of your life! Apply the sock theory, and, just like me, you'll--well, you'll at least have warmer feet!
Monday, November 9, 2009
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Landscaping Project--The Conclusion
Okay, so I got a little behind on my blogging lately! I figured I'd fill you in on my landscaping project. First, we have to backtrack a little bit to the beginning of July.
I imagine you're already thinking "a landscaping project in July? No one plants anything in July." However, you are so wrong. I plant things in July. Granted, it was not really by choice--it was more that I pretty much had to do something with what was left of the plants I started in February. After all that work with the seeds, and the watering, and the plant tending, I had to have something to show for my landscaping project effort!
So, it's a Sunday in early July. Lucky me, it happens to be one of the hottest Sundays of the whole summer--somewhere around 101 + heat index. And what am I doing? Planting what's left of my plants. I'd venture a guess that of all the seeds I started and all the bulbs I ordered, probably only about 1/3 of them survived to July, when I finally got around to planting what was left. Of the plants that were still living, I'd venture a guess that roughly 10 survived. Alright, so I knew July was a bad time to plant--something about it being to hot and too little rain, but I was going to see this damn project through! On the plus side, I now have 3 new beds dug for next year, so I can start the whole process over again next February!
I'll skim over two of the beds I made that were not so successful (not so successful might be an understatement) and just write about my "bulb garden."
It's Sunday night, Jeremy and I are finally sitting on the porch, relaxing and having a beer. Jeremy says, "It'll be a miracle if anything comes up in that bed besides weeds."
Returning to Sunday morning, it's already upper 80s but I decided I had to get the bed made for my bulbs. Half of them were starting to rot in the bags and the other half were already sprouting. And that was in a dark cupboard in the house. So out I go with my spade. I will just briefly say that there should be a law in Georgia against me operating a spade. I started out working in the shade, which, okay, was still hot as hell. An hour later, I had maybe one edge along the guest house dug up. Every time I sank the stupid spade into the ground, I'd hit a brick. The process went something like this:
1) Me standing on a spade that is not sinking in to the ground
2) Me swaying and spiraling around on the spade like it's some sort of amusement park ride before falling off the spade, which if I was lucky, was now 1 inch into the ground.
3) Me getting back on the spade and repeating the process
4) Me hitting a brick--thud--causing the spade to immediately shoot away from me. Unfortunately, sometimes this meant it bounced into the side of the guest house and then back into me, which meant me falling off the spade again.
5) Me getting hot, chugging water, and running to the bathroom every 15 minutes
6) And repeat
Every so often, I'd actually manage to unearth a brick. After about an hour of this. I got really hot and decided I'd feel a lot cooler if I took off my shoes. That's when I discovered fire ants. Of course, I can't find the fire ant hill when I'm well protected. No, not me. After dancing around and frantically brushing off fire ants, I returned to my tilt-a-spade ride.
About an hour and a half of this went on when Jeremy finally came out to check my progress. By this point, there was no longer any shade at all, and I was a dripping, fire ant bitten, stinky mess. And still I had managed to dig up no more than about a tenth of my bulb bed. I have to admit, it was my fault that I was stuck digging up a flower bed on the hottest day of the year, so I really didn't feel I should complain about the heat. Instead, I complained about the fire ants. Informing Jeremy of my misfortune, I whined, "My feet are so itchy!"
"That's what you get for walking around without your shoes on," he replied. What? How'd he know? Where's the sympathy? I looked down at my feet. My shoes were on. There was no way he could know I had taken them off, so I told him "I have my sandals on (note the "subtle" word play. I didn't say had them on. . .). They just started swarming all over my feet!"
Jeremy looked at me skeptically. I'm pretty sure he didn't believe me but decided it might be better to act like he did. But that was about all he did before he went back inside, and I continued my inept spade work.
After about another hour, Jeremy came back outside. I think he finally took pity on me because he had a shovel this time. In about half an hour, the whole bed was done. Of course, he took the easy part that had no bricks stuck under it, which is why it took him no time at all to do the other 9/10th of the bed (this is my view anyway, and I'm always right, so. . .).
By the time the bed was finally dug up, it was midafternoon, and I needed a break. I decided the best thing to do was clean up, cool off, and wait till it cooled off in the evening to plant the bulbs. It was a good idea at the time.
Evening rolls around, and I gather all my bulbs. Meticulously and carefully, I begin planting all the bulbs, trying to arrange them perfectly so that all the different kinds are intermingled evenly. This meticulousness also meant that I was planting them very slowly. The next thing I know it's starting to get dark, and I still have over 100 bulbs to plant. That was pretty much when I just said screw it. I wanted to be done with this whole project that day. So, I developed a new planting method:
a) Scrape back a pile of dirt
b) Drop in a buttload of bulbs
c) Make a half-assed attempt at covering them
d) Move over a few inches and repeat.
Needless to say, all 100+ bulbs were planted, albiet not very well, in a matter of minutes. Some of them still poked above the ground. Others all you had to do was accidentally brush the dirt and there were the bulbs. I didn't care. I was done.
Jeremy joined me. I was satified. He was shaking his head again. He was positive that there was no way anything was going to grow in my bulb garden. I didn't care. All I cared about was that I had completed my project. Not a single plant or bulb (well none of the ones that were still living) remained--all were stuck in dirt.
Two weeks later, Jeremy came into the house looking incredulous.
"What?" I asked.
"Have you looked at your bulb garden lately?" Of course I hadn't. It was done. I was done. I was pretty sure Jeremy was right and nothing was going to grow, so why bother looking at dirt.
"Nope, why?"
"Go look at it. I don't know how you managed that. I don't know why either." I went outside. Little sprouts were shooting up everywhere. Granted, I know a lot of the bulbs didn't make it, and granted, none of them actually flowered this year, but wait til next year!
I turned around and looked at Jeremy.
"I guess I'll have to buy a few more bulbs next year. I should probably put some foliage plants in there too. I could get some more plant seeds. Maybe some flower seeds too--daisies! I should do some more reasearch and figure out what other kinds of flowers to plant!"
Jeremy just remained silent.
I imagine you're already thinking "a landscaping project in July? No one plants anything in July." However, you are so wrong. I plant things in July. Granted, it was not really by choice--it was more that I pretty much had to do something with what was left of the plants I started in February. After all that work with the seeds, and the watering, and the plant tending, I had to have something to show for my landscaping project effort!
So, it's a Sunday in early July. Lucky me, it happens to be one of the hottest Sundays of the whole summer--somewhere around 101 + heat index. And what am I doing? Planting what's left of my plants. I'd venture a guess that of all the seeds I started and all the bulbs I ordered, probably only about 1/3 of them survived to July, when I finally got around to planting what was left. Of the plants that were still living, I'd venture a guess that roughly 10 survived. Alright, so I knew July was a bad time to plant--something about it being to hot and too little rain, but I was going to see this damn project through! On the plus side, I now have 3 new beds dug for next year, so I can start the whole process over again next February!
I'll skim over two of the beds I made that were not so successful (not so successful might be an understatement) and just write about my "bulb garden."
It's Sunday night, Jeremy and I are finally sitting on the porch, relaxing and having a beer. Jeremy says, "It'll be a miracle if anything comes up in that bed besides weeds."
Returning to Sunday morning, it's already upper 80s but I decided I had to get the bed made for my bulbs. Half of them were starting to rot in the bags and the other half were already sprouting. And that was in a dark cupboard in the house. So out I go with my spade. I will just briefly say that there should be a law in Georgia against me operating a spade. I started out working in the shade, which, okay, was still hot as hell. An hour later, I had maybe one edge along the guest house dug up. Every time I sank the stupid spade into the ground, I'd hit a brick. The process went something like this:
1) Me standing on a spade that is not sinking in to the ground
2) Me swaying and spiraling around on the spade like it's some sort of amusement park ride before falling off the spade, which if I was lucky, was now 1 inch into the ground.
3) Me getting back on the spade and repeating the process
4) Me hitting a brick--thud--causing the spade to immediately shoot away from me. Unfortunately, sometimes this meant it bounced into the side of the guest house and then back into me, which meant me falling off the spade again.
5) Me getting hot, chugging water, and running to the bathroom every 15 minutes
6) And repeat
Every so often, I'd actually manage to unearth a brick. After about an hour of this. I got really hot and decided I'd feel a lot cooler if I took off my shoes. That's when I discovered fire ants. Of course, I can't find the fire ant hill when I'm well protected. No, not me. After dancing around and frantically brushing off fire ants, I returned to my tilt-a-spade ride.
About an hour and a half of this went on when Jeremy finally came out to check my progress. By this point, there was no longer any shade at all, and I was a dripping, fire ant bitten, stinky mess. And still I had managed to dig up no more than about a tenth of my bulb bed. I have to admit, it was my fault that I was stuck digging up a flower bed on the hottest day of the year, so I really didn't feel I should complain about the heat. Instead, I complained about the fire ants. Informing Jeremy of my misfortune, I whined, "My feet are so itchy!"
"That's what you get for walking around without your shoes on," he replied. What? How'd he know? Where's the sympathy? I looked down at my feet. My shoes were on. There was no way he could know I had taken them off, so I told him "I have my sandals on (note the "subtle" word play. I didn't say had them on. . .). They just started swarming all over my feet!"
Jeremy looked at me skeptically. I'm pretty sure he didn't believe me but decided it might be better to act like he did. But that was about all he did before he went back inside, and I continued my inept spade work.
After about another hour, Jeremy came back outside. I think he finally took pity on me because he had a shovel this time. In about half an hour, the whole bed was done. Of course, he took the easy part that had no bricks stuck under it, which is why it took him no time at all to do the other 9/10th of the bed (this is my view anyway, and I'm always right, so. . .).
By the time the bed was finally dug up, it was midafternoon, and I needed a break. I decided the best thing to do was clean up, cool off, and wait till it cooled off in the evening to plant the bulbs. It was a good idea at the time.
Evening rolls around, and I gather all my bulbs. Meticulously and carefully, I begin planting all the bulbs, trying to arrange them perfectly so that all the different kinds are intermingled evenly. This meticulousness also meant that I was planting them very slowly. The next thing I know it's starting to get dark, and I still have over 100 bulbs to plant. That was pretty much when I just said screw it. I wanted to be done with this whole project that day. So, I developed a new planting method:
a) Scrape back a pile of dirt
b) Drop in a buttload of bulbs
c) Make a half-assed attempt at covering them
d) Move over a few inches and repeat.
Needless to say, all 100+ bulbs were planted, albiet not very well, in a matter of minutes. Some of them still poked above the ground. Others all you had to do was accidentally brush the dirt and there were the bulbs. I didn't care. I was done.
Jeremy joined me. I was satified. He was shaking his head again. He was positive that there was no way anything was going to grow in my bulb garden. I didn't care. All I cared about was that I had completed my project. Not a single plant or bulb (well none of the ones that were still living) remained--all were stuck in dirt.
Two weeks later, Jeremy came into the house looking incredulous.
"What?" I asked.
"Have you looked at your bulb garden lately?" Of course I hadn't. It was done. I was done. I was pretty sure Jeremy was right and nothing was going to grow, so why bother looking at dirt.
"Nope, why?"
"Go look at it. I don't know how you managed that. I don't know why either." I went outside. Little sprouts were shooting up everywhere. Granted, I know a lot of the bulbs didn't make it, and granted, none of them actually flowered this year, but wait til next year!
I turned around and looked at Jeremy.
"I guess I'll have to buy a few more bulbs next year. I should probably put some foliage plants in there too. I could get some more plant seeds. Maybe some flower seeds too--daisies! I should do some more reasearch and figure out what other kinds of flowers to plant!"
Jeremy just remained silent.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
Miscommunication & Communication
Vehicle one had a load of tree branches and an ugly, old bathroom vanity that had been sitting on our back porch for the past year (don't ask about the progress, but the bathroom now has a quarter of a floor in place) loaded into the back. Vehicle two had a dead battery. Vehicle three was the beloved Porsche that I have never been allowed to drive (someone claims I drive too fast). Vehicle three was the only driveable vehicle.
Now, this wouldn't have been so bad if I had not realized I was out of a certain ingredient for a dessert I was making for a Lion's Club cookout that night. It also would not have been so bad if both Jeremy and I had not already had really bad/busy work days, and it was not already 3 in the afternoon (which also meant that I was running the oven, and the kitchen was now a steamy 93 degrees). And, probably, it would not have been so bad if I could have put a little perspective on the situation, and realized I really didn't need to make the raspberry sauce for the chocolate cheesecake. However, none of these things actually happened. Instead. . .
"Crap (insert slightly more offensive word here)! I don't have a vehicle to drive!" I was in a tizzy about not having any raspberries (of course, I haven't yet told Jeremy what the missing ingredient actually was) and burst into the bedroom where he was out cold, exhausted. Well, he wasn't out cold anymore.
"There's the truck and the porsche," he complained, irritated (okay, irritated is an understatement. He was pretty much grumpy and furious about being woken up, especially after the day he'd already had). "We can drive one of those. Why the hell are you waking me up about this now?" This last part, he mumbled angrily as he raced out of the bedroom and away from me. Granted, this is normally the correct response because when I'm all worked up about something as important as raspberries, it is best for both of our sanity that we do not spend any more time together than necessary -- at least enough time apart for me to realize how I might be, slightly, blowing things out of proportion.
Unfortunately, this only made me madder. I looked out the window and fumed. I was stuck driving the truck around town with its load of unsecured, yes, unsecured, crap. I walked out to the truck, jiggled the bathroom vanity, and figured it was wedged in good enough for me to drive the mile to Piglet.
So, off I went, very slowly making my way to the grocery store. Of course, Piglet had no rasperries--none in the frozen section, none in the freezer section. Now I was really stewing. I was stuck with this truck and no raspberries, and the only way I could get raspberries was to drive 20 miles to the nearest Wal-Mart. I realized there was no way I could do this hauling half a tree and a giant bathroom vanity, so I headed for home, resigned.
Now, I probably would have given up on the whole raspberry issue if it weren't for the next chain of events. Crawling down the road at 30 miles per hour, I suddenly hear Crash! Bam! Thud! Yep, the bathroom vanity had departed the vehicle and was now lying in pieces on the road, causing a traffic jam in 100 degree weather. I had been angry before, but now I was irate. I apologize to the nice man who helped me load the thing back into the truck, but I don't think I said anything to him other than "thank you." I just marched my vanity pieces back to the truck and jammed them in wherever I could find room.
Creeping home at about 10 miles per hour, I was now on a mission. I was getting those raspberries no matter what. For about five minutes, I thought about taking the porsche, knowing Jeremy would freak (even though he was the one who suggested it). Then I decided I was in way too bad of a mood to drive a car that can reach 100 mph in less than 2 seconds and keep on accelerating. Instead, I found a pair of jumper cables, jumped my car, and was off to Wal-Mart.
$100 later (apparently shopping, even if it is at Wal-Mart, is very cathartic), I arrived home to find Jeremy sitting on the porch. He had had no clue that I meant I needed a vehicle to drive right away. He had thought I was just saying we had nothing to drive that night to Lion's Club and couldn't figure out why I was freaking out. Additionally, he seemed rather incredulous that I hadn't bothered to fasten any of the stuff in truck's back end (how was I supposed to know? He never mentioned this little tidbit when he suggested that I drive the truck), but completely unsurprised that the vanity had taken a little trip down the road.
Later that night, sitting on the porch after our strenuous day, we finally relaxed and enjoyed some stimulating conversation. The cicadas (also called heat bugs here) were out in full force, almost drowning us out.
"What's the difference between a cicada and a locust? Are they the same thing?" I asked Jeremy.
"No. Locusts are big grasshopper things that swarm and eat crops."
"Why do the cicadas always quit buzzing when it gets dark?"
"I don't know."
"Do bugs sleep?"
"How am I supposed to know? Google it."
"You're supposed to know everything," I calmly replied. This is my response to any question he can't answer.
"Why in the world would I know if bugs sleep?"
"Because it's important, bug related news," I informed him.
"Alright, if you google it and come up with a news article that says 'Important, breaking news about bugs sleeping,' I'll concede your point."
I briefly contemplated how hard it would be to find an article on Google with those exact words. Bugs sleeping I was sure I could find info on, but pretty sure it would never contain the words 'Important news.' Somehow, my mind wandered again. I asked Jeremy a few more things, and suddenly, the only response I was getting from him was: "yup, yup, yup."
"You sound like that one alien on Bert and Ernie."
"Are you calling me an alien?"
"No, you just sound like him. Remember them?"
"Yup. There were two."
"Yes! And they both made different noises! What did the other one say?"
"How should I know? Where do you keep coming up with this stuff?"
"See," I responded, "another important piece of information you should, but don't know. Was it 'yip?'"
"I don't have a clue."
At that point, I think he was pretty much done with the conversation. Yet I continued to ponder Sesame Street, and then the Muppets.
"Why were some characters on Sesame Street and some characters on the Muppets, but very few on both?"
"I have no clue." He is just not very well informed at all!
"Like Grover. I think Grover was on both, but you rarely saw Kermit on Sesame Street or Big Bird on the Muppets."
"Google it," Jeremy replied.
For some reason, I have started considering Jeremy as the human Google, so I was very disappointed with this response. I guess their are limitations to his knowledge, even if he usually refuses to admit this fact. Still on my Sesame Street/Muppets mindset, I next found myself trying to remember the name of Oscar the Grouch's worm friend.
"Wormy," I said, out of the blue.
"Wormy? Why are you calling me by my old nickname?"
"I'm not. Wormy. Wasn't that the name of Oscar's little worm friend?" For some reason, Jeremy decides to contemplate this character more seriously.
"Was he a worm or a caterpillar?"
"I don't know. I remember he was striped. Light orange and dark orange stripes."
"That sounds more like a caterpillar," Jeremy said.
"It might have been. He never talked. He just inched around on strings."
"You will have to Google Oscar's nontalking friend then and find out what his name is."
"I might get Snuffalupagus though if I do that."
"Snuffalupagus?" I'm sure, by now, Jeremy really wasn't wanting to ask about Snuffalupagus, but for some reason, felt compelled to do so.
"Yes, Snuffalupagus. That was Big Bird's invisible friend. I guess he did talk, but noboby else ever saw him except Big Bird."
Silence. It's dark and the cicadas are all quiet.
"I guess you'll just have to Google sleeping bug alien nontalking muppet friends," Jeremy said.
"I can't Google all of those together!"
"Why not?"
"Hmmm. I guess I could. It might bring up some interesting combinations!" I contemplated the possibilities of what could come up with that search.
"What was the search string again?" I asked Jeremy, having forgotten at least half the words he strung together.
"I think it's time for bed," was his only response.
Now, this wouldn't have been so bad if I had not realized I was out of a certain ingredient for a dessert I was making for a Lion's Club cookout that night. It also would not have been so bad if both Jeremy and I had not already had really bad/busy work days, and it was not already 3 in the afternoon (which also meant that I was running the oven, and the kitchen was now a steamy 93 degrees). And, probably, it would not have been so bad if I could have put a little perspective on the situation, and realized I really didn't need to make the raspberry sauce for the chocolate cheesecake. However, none of these things actually happened. Instead. . .
"Crap (insert slightly more offensive word here)! I don't have a vehicle to drive!" I was in a tizzy about not having any raspberries (of course, I haven't yet told Jeremy what the missing ingredient actually was) and burst into the bedroom where he was out cold, exhausted. Well, he wasn't out cold anymore.
"There's the truck and the porsche," he complained, irritated (okay, irritated is an understatement. He was pretty much grumpy and furious about being woken up, especially after the day he'd already had). "We can drive one of those. Why the hell are you waking me up about this now?" This last part, he mumbled angrily as he raced out of the bedroom and away from me. Granted, this is normally the correct response because when I'm all worked up about something as important as raspberries, it is best for both of our sanity that we do not spend any more time together than necessary -- at least enough time apart for me to realize how I might be, slightly, blowing things out of proportion.
Unfortunately, this only made me madder. I looked out the window and fumed. I was stuck driving the truck around town with its load of unsecured, yes, unsecured, crap. I walked out to the truck, jiggled the bathroom vanity, and figured it was wedged in good enough for me to drive the mile to Piglet.
So, off I went, very slowly making my way to the grocery store. Of course, Piglet had no rasperries--none in the frozen section, none in the freezer section. Now I was really stewing. I was stuck with this truck and no raspberries, and the only way I could get raspberries was to drive 20 miles to the nearest Wal-Mart. I realized there was no way I could do this hauling half a tree and a giant bathroom vanity, so I headed for home, resigned.
Now, I probably would have given up on the whole raspberry issue if it weren't for the next chain of events. Crawling down the road at 30 miles per hour, I suddenly hear Crash! Bam! Thud! Yep, the bathroom vanity had departed the vehicle and was now lying in pieces on the road, causing a traffic jam in 100 degree weather. I had been angry before, but now I was irate. I apologize to the nice man who helped me load the thing back into the truck, but I don't think I said anything to him other than "thank you." I just marched my vanity pieces back to the truck and jammed them in wherever I could find room.
Creeping home at about 10 miles per hour, I was now on a mission. I was getting those raspberries no matter what. For about five minutes, I thought about taking the porsche, knowing Jeremy would freak (even though he was the one who suggested it). Then I decided I was in way too bad of a mood to drive a car that can reach 100 mph in less than 2 seconds and keep on accelerating. Instead, I found a pair of jumper cables, jumped my car, and was off to Wal-Mart.
$100 later (apparently shopping, even if it is at Wal-Mart, is very cathartic), I arrived home to find Jeremy sitting on the porch. He had had no clue that I meant I needed a vehicle to drive right away. He had thought I was just saying we had nothing to drive that night to Lion's Club and couldn't figure out why I was freaking out. Additionally, he seemed rather incredulous that I hadn't bothered to fasten any of the stuff in truck's back end (how was I supposed to know? He never mentioned this little tidbit when he suggested that I drive the truck), but completely unsurprised that the vanity had taken a little trip down the road.
Later that night, sitting on the porch after our strenuous day, we finally relaxed and enjoyed some stimulating conversation. The cicadas (also called heat bugs here) were out in full force, almost drowning us out.
"What's the difference between a cicada and a locust? Are they the same thing?" I asked Jeremy.
"No. Locusts are big grasshopper things that swarm and eat crops."
"Why do the cicadas always quit buzzing when it gets dark?"
"I don't know."
"Do bugs sleep?"
"How am I supposed to know? Google it."
"You're supposed to know everything," I calmly replied. This is my response to any question he can't answer.
"Why in the world would I know if bugs sleep?"
"Because it's important, bug related news," I informed him.
"Alright, if you google it and come up with a news article that says 'Important, breaking news about bugs sleeping,' I'll concede your point."
I briefly contemplated how hard it would be to find an article on Google with those exact words. Bugs sleeping I was sure I could find info on, but pretty sure it would never contain the words 'Important news.' Somehow, my mind wandered again. I asked Jeremy a few more things, and suddenly, the only response I was getting from him was: "yup, yup, yup."
"You sound like that one alien on Bert and Ernie."
"Are you calling me an alien?"
"No, you just sound like him. Remember them?"
"Yup. There were two."
"Yes! And they both made different noises! What did the other one say?"
"How should I know? Where do you keep coming up with this stuff?"
"See," I responded, "another important piece of information you should, but don't know. Was it 'yip?'"
"I don't have a clue."
At that point, I think he was pretty much done with the conversation. Yet I continued to ponder Sesame Street, and then the Muppets.
"Why were some characters on Sesame Street and some characters on the Muppets, but very few on both?"
"I have no clue." He is just not very well informed at all!
"Like Grover. I think Grover was on both, but you rarely saw Kermit on Sesame Street or Big Bird on the Muppets."
"Google it," Jeremy replied.
For some reason, I have started considering Jeremy as the human Google, so I was very disappointed with this response. I guess their are limitations to his knowledge, even if he usually refuses to admit this fact. Still on my Sesame Street/Muppets mindset, I next found myself trying to remember the name of Oscar the Grouch's worm friend.
"Wormy," I said, out of the blue.
"Wormy? Why are you calling me by my old nickname?"
"I'm not. Wormy. Wasn't that the name of Oscar's little worm friend?" For some reason, Jeremy decides to contemplate this character more seriously.
"Was he a worm or a caterpillar?"
"I don't know. I remember he was striped. Light orange and dark orange stripes."
"That sounds more like a caterpillar," Jeremy said.
"It might have been. He never talked. He just inched around on strings."
"You will have to Google Oscar's nontalking friend then and find out what his name is."
"I might get Snuffalupagus though if I do that."
"Snuffalupagus?" I'm sure, by now, Jeremy really wasn't wanting to ask about Snuffalupagus, but for some reason, felt compelled to do so.
"Yes, Snuffalupagus. That was Big Bird's invisible friend. I guess he did talk, but noboby else ever saw him except Big Bird."
Silence. It's dark and the cicadas are all quiet.
"I guess you'll just have to Google sleeping bug alien nontalking muppet friends," Jeremy said.
"I can't Google all of those together!"
"Why not?"
"Hmmm. I guess I could. It might bring up some interesting combinations!" I contemplated the possibilities of what could come up with that search.
"What was the search string again?" I asked Jeremy, having forgotten at least half the words he strung together.
"I think it's time for bed," was his only response.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Unappreciated Genius
Jeremy is so pessimistic. Any time I come up with an ingenious idea, he just stomps it flat. As former Catholic Bishop Fulton J. Sheen said, "Jealousy is the tribute mediocrity pays to genius." Obviously, as you will see, he is just jealous of my ideas, wishing he would have thought of them first.
For example, my latest idea was grilled pizza. I have the crusts and all the ingredients, but running the oven means heating up the kitchen to the point where it feels we are residing in one of Dante's rings of hell (I think it's the one for greed--we are coveting our neighbor's air conditioning). So I had a brilliant idea--grill the pizza!
"No," Jeremy said as soon as I vocalized my ingenious plan.
"Why not? I could just put the grill on low, pop the pizza on a pan, and in 10 minutes, viola! Pizza and no hot kitchen!" I'm very thrilled about this prospect, but what do I get?
"No. Don't do it."
"Why not?"
"It won't work." Mr. pessimistic jealous man again.
"Why not?"
"Have you ever heard of anyone grilling anything in layers before?"
I ponder this a moment. Hmmm. "Well, no. Wait! I did grill eggplant parmesan in a pan before!" At least I think I did.
"Don't do it."
"But--" He cut me off.
"Don't do it. Don't do it. Don't do it. Don't do it." Great. He has a new mantra.
"You know, when you tell me not to do something, it just makes me want to do it more."
Jeremy sighed. "If you're going to do it, wait til sometime when I'm gone. Wait til I have to go back to Winston so I don't have to eat the thing."
But I know I won't do that. If I do, then I can't share my pizza grilling success and rub it in his face (I know this will work, just like most of my other ideas--well, they worked in my head anyway). So, at some point within the next week or so, I know I will be trying to grill a pizza, despite Jeremy's pessimistic view that it won't work. You never know until you try, right?
Granted, some ideas do not work out so well. Like the other night. I needed to get the sprayer back on a running hose. I looked at it, figured I'd get a little wet, but how hard could it really be? Jeremy immediately looked at me and said, "Do you need me to go back and turn the water off?"
"No," I replied. "I can get it." Now, part of this was his own fault. Whenever we work on projects together, no matter how small, he usually ends up irritated with me. This time, we were trying to fit a hose through a little spot in the foundation, and run it under the house and back to the faucet. This meant that Jeremy had to crawl under the house in the back, crawl through tons of spiders and who knows what all else, in the heat, grab the hose, and pull it to the back of the house.
Now, I'm not the greatest with following even the smallest verbal project directions. I try, but somehow what he tells me and what I hear are two, completely different things. I think this time Jeremy was using to many vague pronouns (at least that's what I told him). So when he told me I needed to unattatch everything from "this hose," I assumed he meant I needed to take the sprayer off the hose. That was my first mistake. "This hose" did not refer to the entire clump of hoses, but rather to one, particular hose. So, in reality, all he wanted me to do was detatch one hose from the other (I don't know why he just didn't say this). In the end, my messup ended up meaning he had to crawl back under the house a second time, and that pretty much fried any patience he had. (We won't even get into me trying to tell him something while he was already under the house and couldn't hear me.)
So, that brings us back to reattaching the sprayer. Looking at my irritable husband, I decided it was a far better idea just to put the sprayer back on (the sprayer that never needed to come off in the first place) while it was running, instead of sending him all the way to the backyard to turn the water off.
This was a mistake. The next thing I know, I am soaked from head to foot and the sprayer is still not back on the hose. I just stand there for a little bit, dripping and look at him. He's now laughing his butt off, so at least he's no longer irritated. "I think maybe you need to shut the water off," I told him.
"Really?" Mr. Smartass replied. But, as you can see, this particular idea, the one that didn't work, was entirely his fault anyway, so it should not reflect badly, whatsoever, on my own genius.
But, it's not just the grilled pizza idea he's dumped on, but tons of other brilliant ideas that I've had over the years. For example, my idea for a self washing car. It would just have little wiper type things with cloth, instead of blades, mounted at various places on the car. Then, when you push a button, they come out, run along little tracks or something, and clean the car. Did he think this was a good idea? No, of course not.
Then there was my idea for saving cities money on electricity. Paint companies would just design special, glow in the dark, outdoor paint. People would paint their houses, they would glow in the dark, and suddenly, you no longer need all those big street lights! Genius! Again, he found this idea flawed. The same with the clap on faucet, the net hung under the pecan tree branches that would collect all the nuts and keep them from dropping on our head if we wanted a seating area there, and . . .
The other night, we were sitting on the front porch, talking about doing something to the outside of the house. I had another genius idea!
"We could--" I started excitedly.
"No." Jeremy said. He didn't even give me a chance to say what my idea was, and, sadly, I seem to have lost the idea. It's all his fault. I know it was good, and, eventually, it will come back, but for now, he might have cost me my most valuable idea yet!
For example, my latest idea was grilled pizza. I have the crusts and all the ingredients, but running the oven means heating up the kitchen to the point where it feels we are residing in one of Dante's rings of hell (I think it's the one for greed--we are coveting our neighbor's air conditioning). So I had a brilliant idea--grill the pizza!
"No," Jeremy said as soon as I vocalized my ingenious plan.
"Why not? I could just put the grill on low, pop the pizza on a pan, and in 10 minutes, viola! Pizza and no hot kitchen!" I'm very thrilled about this prospect, but what do I get?
"No. Don't do it."
"Why not?"
"It won't work." Mr. pessimistic jealous man again.
"Why not?"
"Have you ever heard of anyone grilling anything in layers before?"
I ponder this a moment. Hmmm. "Well, no. Wait! I did grill eggplant parmesan in a pan before!" At least I think I did.
"Don't do it."
"But--" He cut me off.
"Don't do it. Don't do it. Don't do it. Don't do it." Great. He has a new mantra.
"You know, when you tell me not to do something, it just makes me want to do it more."
Jeremy sighed. "If you're going to do it, wait til sometime when I'm gone. Wait til I have to go back to Winston so I don't have to eat the thing."
But I know I won't do that. If I do, then I can't share my pizza grilling success and rub it in his face (I know this will work, just like most of my other ideas--well, they worked in my head anyway). So, at some point within the next week or so, I know I will be trying to grill a pizza, despite Jeremy's pessimistic view that it won't work. You never know until you try, right?
Granted, some ideas do not work out so well. Like the other night. I needed to get the sprayer back on a running hose. I looked at it, figured I'd get a little wet, but how hard could it really be? Jeremy immediately looked at me and said, "Do you need me to go back and turn the water off?"
"No," I replied. "I can get it." Now, part of this was his own fault. Whenever we work on projects together, no matter how small, he usually ends up irritated with me. This time, we were trying to fit a hose through a little spot in the foundation, and run it under the house and back to the faucet. This meant that Jeremy had to crawl under the house in the back, crawl through tons of spiders and who knows what all else, in the heat, grab the hose, and pull it to the back of the house.
Now, I'm not the greatest with following even the smallest verbal project directions. I try, but somehow what he tells me and what I hear are two, completely different things. I think this time Jeremy was using to many vague pronouns (at least that's what I told him). So when he told me I needed to unattatch everything from "this hose," I assumed he meant I needed to take the sprayer off the hose. That was my first mistake. "This hose" did not refer to the entire clump of hoses, but rather to one, particular hose. So, in reality, all he wanted me to do was detatch one hose from the other (I don't know why he just didn't say this). In the end, my messup ended up meaning he had to crawl back under the house a second time, and that pretty much fried any patience he had. (We won't even get into me trying to tell him something while he was already under the house and couldn't hear me.)
So, that brings us back to reattaching the sprayer. Looking at my irritable husband, I decided it was a far better idea just to put the sprayer back on (the sprayer that never needed to come off in the first place) while it was running, instead of sending him all the way to the backyard to turn the water off.
This was a mistake. The next thing I know, I am soaked from head to foot and the sprayer is still not back on the hose. I just stand there for a little bit, dripping and look at him. He's now laughing his butt off, so at least he's no longer irritated. "I think maybe you need to shut the water off," I told him.
"Really?" Mr. Smartass replied. But, as you can see, this particular idea, the one that didn't work, was entirely his fault anyway, so it should not reflect badly, whatsoever, on my own genius.
But, it's not just the grilled pizza idea he's dumped on, but tons of other brilliant ideas that I've had over the years. For example, my idea for a self washing car. It would just have little wiper type things with cloth, instead of blades, mounted at various places on the car. Then, when you push a button, they come out, run along little tracks or something, and clean the car. Did he think this was a good idea? No, of course not.
Then there was my idea for saving cities money on electricity. Paint companies would just design special, glow in the dark, outdoor paint. People would paint their houses, they would glow in the dark, and suddenly, you no longer need all those big street lights! Genius! Again, he found this idea flawed. The same with the clap on faucet, the net hung under the pecan tree branches that would collect all the nuts and keep them from dropping on our head if we wanted a seating area there, and . . .
The other night, we were sitting on the front porch, talking about doing something to the outside of the house. I had another genius idea!
"We could--" I started excitedly.
"No." Jeremy said. He didn't even give me a chance to say what my idea was, and, sadly, I seem to have lost the idea. It's all his fault. I know it was good, and, eventually, it will come back, but for now, he might have cost me my most valuable idea yet!
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Good Idea/Bad Idea
Okay, so it's now the end of June, and I still don't have all my flower beds made. I forgot a tiny thing. Well, it's not so much forgot, but didn't realize. I decided to teach 5 classes this summer. I thought, hey, no problem, since I teach 5 during the regular semester. What I forgot was that the summer session is only 5-10 weeks long, depending on whether I'm teaching first, second, or full summer session. So needless to say, once the regular semester finally ended, I had a week to pull everything together for the summer, and it's been a race to stay on top of things.
Last week, I looked around me. Tumblefur everywhere. There was no denying the house was in horrible need of some serious cleaning. Then I went back to my to do list and made a new one. At the top were the never-moving listings for "soot" and "flower beds." I sighed and added about 20 more things to the list.
I started working on the soot in April. Basically, since we used a kerosene heater for heat all winter, the kitchen walls are now covered with the grimy, gray coating of, well, soot. There's various colors, depending on how recently I got the wallpaper border removed (which, yay for me! I finally finished that project!). There are also places where the wallpaper border remover stuff ran down the wall, creating these lovely streaks of drippy soot. I like to think of it as "Modern" art--I call it "Painted Soot." Jeremy just looks at it and shakes his head. I did get most of the soot removed from about a third of the room. Then I sort of got busy. I like to think of it as an excellent portrayal of "before" and "after"--similar to those project photo shoots. Unfortunately, the after is staying around a little longer than anticipated.
I did get a few of the flower beds made, finally! I was very proud of myself. Again, there seems to be a negative side to this as well. For one, it was only a couple weeks ago that I got those done and only the ones in the front yard. I would say at least 50% of the seeds I started in February died. Okay, so it wasn't exactly the seeds that died, but the plants themselves after waiting for roughly 5 months to be planted. Then, right after I got my little tiny plants in out front, it got hot. I'm pretty much guessing another 50% of the plants died. I would say I've learned my lesson, but probably not. I still have about 2 trays of plants that need planted in the back yard, along with about 100 bulbs that I ordered. I keep meaning to make the flower beds for those, but it has just kept getting hotter and hotter (yesterday it was like 105 with the heat index). So instead, I end up on the front porch with a beer in the evening, thinking about the projects. I have to say, more people should do this--it's much cooler and there's a lot less swearing involved in that method.
Then there's the fur problem. I spent all day on Saturday cleaning the house. I swept all the floors, mopped all the floors, did dishes, cleaned the bathroom, organized things. . . I was a cleaning fool. Alright, so I was cleaning just to avoid grading more papers, but by the time I was done, the house looked a lot better! I can't say the same for the papers. . .
That's when I got this brilliant idea. Our cat is long haired, and since we don't have air in the house, I normally take her to get shaved when she starts shedding really bad. However, when I was at Wal-Mart, I saw a pet shaver for like $30. I had to buy it! That would save money year after year, since it usually costs anywhere from $30-$60 to get her shaved. I congratulated myself on my brilliance. Then I grabbed the cat when it was time to start. Really, it wouldn't have been so bad if it didn't take so long. But pretty much after about an hour of shaving her, she lost patience with the whole process, and there was nothing I could do to hold her still.
By the time I quit, I had managed to shave her entire back and most of her sides--but that left all the rest of her fur from lower sides down. Then I also noticed I missed a big clump right on her back end. She looked like some weird alien being with a bad haircut--a cat mullet. Topping it off was the one long clump of fur sticking straight off her butt in the back. I found a little bow and made a little ponytail out of the weird clump and watched her high"tail" it away from me. Then I got busy again--the end of the first 5 week summer session is this week. So basically, the cat's been roaming around the house for almost a week with her bad/half shave job. Maybe it would have been simpler just to take her to a groomer.
Yesterday, I finally decided I needed to do something about the mountain of dirty laundry that's been steadily growing in the bedroom. Since we are working on the master bath, we don't have a place to hook up the washer yet, which means I have to drive the laundry to the next town over to get it done. Which means I often try to ignore the huge mound of dirty clothes. The problem came last week when I had to buy new underwear. Suddenly, doing laundry became a priority. So I sorted everything, loaded it all up, rounded up my quarters, and headed out. I estimated I had about 5 loads of laundry to do, and that I had just enough quarters to do 5 loads of laundry. Well, I did have just enough. I was lost in thought about the water bill. It totaled $100 this month, and they were trying to convince us that we had used 31,700 gallons of water last month (as compared to our normal 2500 gallons. Turns out that despite the fact they claimed to have "reread" the meter, they didn't and were trying to charge us for our total water usage since we moved into the house). Anyway, distracted, I just started popping quarters into a row of 5 machines and turning them on. I opened the first and poured in detergent. I opened the second, and crap! Somebody's clean clothes were in there! I opened the 3rd and the 4th--same thing. Only the 5th was empty. A wonderfully intelligent move on my part, I was now paying to rewash 3 loads of someone else's clothes and now only had enought money for 2 loads. So, I sorted out the most essential (underwear of course) and washed my 2 loads. For now, the rest of the dirty laundry is doing some traveling. Stuck in the back of my car, it's now been to campus, to Wal-Mart, to Subway. . .
Yes, I probably should have gone and finished the rest of the laundry today, but instead I'm blogging. Once I'm finished with my blogging, I think I'm headed for the front porch with a beer. From there, I will enjoy Abbeville's fine entertainment. Maybe the 2 teenage boys in the golf cart with the duck whistle will be back following the not-so-impressed teenage girl out walking. Or maybe hairmetal SUV guy will be cruising around town playing Def Leppard or Ratt. Or maybe one of the numerous town drunks will be out tonight. Oh, the possibilities--as long as it doesn't involve me doing something badly, I'm set!
Last week, I looked around me. Tumblefur everywhere. There was no denying the house was in horrible need of some serious cleaning. Then I went back to my to do list and made a new one. At the top were the never-moving listings for "soot" and "flower beds." I sighed and added about 20 more things to the list.
I started working on the soot in April. Basically, since we used a kerosene heater for heat all winter, the kitchen walls are now covered with the grimy, gray coating of, well, soot. There's various colors, depending on how recently I got the wallpaper border removed (which, yay for me! I finally finished that project!). There are also places where the wallpaper border remover stuff ran down the wall, creating these lovely streaks of drippy soot. I like to think of it as "Modern" art--I call it "Painted Soot." Jeremy just looks at it and shakes his head. I did get most of the soot removed from about a third of the room. Then I sort of got busy. I like to think of it as an excellent portrayal of "before" and "after"--similar to those project photo shoots. Unfortunately, the after is staying around a little longer than anticipated.
I did get a few of the flower beds made, finally! I was very proud of myself. Again, there seems to be a negative side to this as well. For one, it was only a couple weeks ago that I got those done and only the ones in the front yard. I would say at least 50% of the seeds I started in February died. Okay, so it wasn't exactly the seeds that died, but the plants themselves after waiting for roughly 5 months to be planted. Then, right after I got my little tiny plants in out front, it got hot. I'm pretty much guessing another 50% of the plants died. I would say I've learned my lesson, but probably not. I still have about 2 trays of plants that need planted in the back yard, along with about 100 bulbs that I ordered. I keep meaning to make the flower beds for those, but it has just kept getting hotter and hotter (yesterday it was like 105 with the heat index). So instead, I end up on the front porch with a beer in the evening, thinking about the projects. I have to say, more people should do this--it's much cooler and there's a lot less swearing involved in that method.
Then there's the fur problem. I spent all day on Saturday cleaning the house. I swept all the floors, mopped all the floors, did dishes, cleaned the bathroom, organized things. . . I was a cleaning fool. Alright, so I was cleaning just to avoid grading more papers, but by the time I was done, the house looked a lot better! I can't say the same for the papers. . .
That's when I got this brilliant idea. Our cat is long haired, and since we don't have air in the house, I normally take her to get shaved when she starts shedding really bad. However, when I was at Wal-Mart, I saw a pet shaver for like $30. I had to buy it! That would save money year after year, since it usually costs anywhere from $30-$60 to get her shaved. I congratulated myself on my brilliance. Then I grabbed the cat when it was time to start. Really, it wouldn't have been so bad if it didn't take so long. But pretty much after about an hour of shaving her, she lost patience with the whole process, and there was nothing I could do to hold her still.
By the time I quit, I had managed to shave her entire back and most of her sides--but that left all the rest of her fur from lower sides down. Then I also noticed I missed a big clump right on her back end. She looked like some weird alien being with a bad haircut--a cat mullet. Topping it off was the one long clump of fur sticking straight off her butt in the back. I found a little bow and made a little ponytail out of the weird clump and watched her high"tail" it away from me. Then I got busy again--the end of the first 5 week summer session is this week. So basically, the cat's been roaming around the house for almost a week with her bad/half shave job. Maybe it would have been simpler just to take her to a groomer.
Yesterday, I finally decided I needed to do something about the mountain of dirty laundry that's been steadily growing in the bedroom. Since we are working on the master bath, we don't have a place to hook up the washer yet, which means I have to drive the laundry to the next town over to get it done. Which means I often try to ignore the huge mound of dirty clothes. The problem came last week when I had to buy new underwear. Suddenly, doing laundry became a priority. So I sorted everything, loaded it all up, rounded up my quarters, and headed out. I estimated I had about 5 loads of laundry to do, and that I had just enough quarters to do 5 loads of laundry. Well, I did have just enough. I was lost in thought about the water bill. It totaled $100 this month, and they were trying to convince us that we had used 31,700 gallons of water last month (as compared to our normal 2500 gallons. Turns out that despite the fact they claimed to have "reread" the meter, they didn't and were trying to charge us for our total water usage since we moved into the house). Anyway, distracted, I just started popping quarters into a row of 5 machines and turning them on. I opened the first and poured in detergent. I opened the second, and crap! Somebody's clean clothes were in there! I opened the 3rd and the 4th--same thing. Only the 5th was empty. A wonderfully intelligent move on my part, I was now paying to rewash 3 loads of someone else's clothes and now only had enought money for 2 loads. So, I sorted out the most essential (underwear of course) and washed my 2 loads. For now, the rest of the dirty laundry is doing some traveling. Stuck in the back of my car, it's now been to campus, to Wal-Mart, to Subway. . .
Yes, I probably should have gone and finished the rest of the laundry today, but instead I'm blogging. Once I'm finished with my blogging, I think I'm headed for the front porch with a beer. From there, I will enjoy Abbeville's fine entertainment. Maybe the 2 teenage boys in the golf cart with the duck whistle will be back following the not-so-impressed teenage girl out walking. Or maybe hairmetal SUV guy will be cruising around town playing Def Leppard or Ratt. Or maybe one of the numerous town drunks will be out tonight. Oh, the possibilities--as long as it doesn't involve me doing something badly, I'm set!
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Traveling Home: The Trip Back
Both Jeremy and I were very saddened when Jeremy's mom, Diane, called to let us know his grandmother, Blanche, had passed away. We quickly rounded everything up, and headed out the door--yes, driving, rather than flying back to Iowa. Yes, we weren't really thinking very well, which is typically only something I do. Fortunately, for my wonderful husband, he got to spend 22 hours in the car (one way--48-50 hours total) with me, his lovely wife, on our trek back. Unfortunately, for him, I am often not the best passenger (which is usually why I drive) and sometimes am prone to navigational "errors." I like to call them "scenic routes" (this is what my grandpa Wenger always referred to them as), but he just likes to shake his head and groan.
The first part of the trip started out very nice. As a passenger, I looked around at the beautiful, Georgia countryside, at little towns we hadn't yet explored, and then realized I had to pee. Okay, so me being an idyllic passenger lasted roughly one hour.
"Jeremy?"
"Yes?"
"I think I have to pee."
"Already? Didn't you go before we left?"
"Yes, but I think I have to pee again."
"You think? So that means you can wait another half hour or hour?"
"Umm, maybe I've progressed past the 'I think I have to pee stage' to the "I really have to pee soon stage," I replied, giving a sweet little grin to try and lessen his obvious displeasure.
"Then why didn't you just say you have to pee?"
"I was trying to break it to you gently."
Sigh from Jeremy, "Okay, we'll take the next exit and find a gas station then." We take the next exit and slowly meander through a sleepy little town. Unfortunately, this appeared to be the one town without a gas station. On the very far end of town, we finally spot one.
"Jeremy, isn't that gas station on the same road we exited off of to go into town?" I asked. Jeremy sighed again. It was. We had gone through the whole town for no reason at all.
Coming out of the gas station, feeling refreshed and armed with water, soda, and a chocolate milk, Jeremy just stared at me.
"We are not stopping every hour for you to go to the bathroom. We'll never make it back!"
"Yeah, but I was thirsty," I responded. "You don't want to have to stop for me to keep getting drinks, do you?" Another sigh. I had a feeling this might become a trend.
Off we go again. And soon I'm bored again. I would read in the car, but unfortunately, if I read too long, I get carsick. I'm pretty sure Jeremy didn't want to add extra stops for that, so I start developing ideas in my head. You see, there's all these blank billboards everywhere, emphatically calling out to me "Advertise Here!" or "Rent Me!" with phone numbers listed.
"I think I should rent a billboard" I tell Jeremy.
"Why would you want to rent a billboard?"
"Well, I could put up little messages for people stuck driving ."
"Why would you do that?"
"Cuz all the billboards are so boring. I mean really, who actually stops at Pete's Western Wear? And do places like McDonald's and Wendy's really need to advertise?"
"Probably not. But why do you need a billboard? What would you actually put on it?" I pondered this for a bit.
"I don't know. How about I Like Cheese?"
"Why would anyone want to read that?"
"Because it's different. Because it really doesn't say anything at all. Maybe it would get them thinking about cheeses they like or things they like. It would have to be more interesting than Circus Shoes or Jimmy Joe's Jamboree."
"I suppose."
"Or," I said, really getting into my idea, "I could put up thought provoking things for people to debate, like 'Whoppers are Better than Big Macs.' I could have the message changed every few weeks to something new!"
Jeremy looks at me. He doesn't say anything about the idea or how ridiculous it is. He just says, "Do you know how much it would cost to rent a billboard and have it changed every week?" Damn his logic.
Back to driving, driving, driving, driving. Through Georgia, through Alabama, me navigating. Then we get to Birmingham. It really wasn't ALL my fault. You see, the atlas I was using was three years old. It showed, in jagged form, a road that connected with the interstate--a more convenient route than meandering through the north side of Birmingham to catch the same road outside of town. I mean, really, three years later, who wouldn't expect the road to be finished. So I directed Jeremy down the interstate, and roughly 10 miles out of Birmingham, we both came to the conclusion that said road still did not exist. So, we decided to just take an exit and head in the general direction of the road we wanted. This would have been much easier if my out of date atlas actually showed more than just interstates and highways. I have to say, rural, northern Alabama was very beautiful, but the roads really do wind around. We finally stopped at a gas station to figure out where in the world we were (Not my idea--I hate stopping for directions, but Jeremy knew if he didn't, I'd have him meandering for hours through rural Alabama). Fortunately, we had somehow landed less than a mile from the intersection of the road we wanted. Am I an awesome navigator or what! (Okay, so Jeremy insists that I put in here that it was not me that navigated us to that point but him. I really do think he was going off my inspiration though).
By that time, the sun had almost set. We turned onto our road and gaudy, neon glowing signs greeted us on both sides. What in the world. I thought we had hit some sort of weird strip club alley. Neon palm trees, dinosaurs, miners, flashy pink, green, blue, and purple signs shone brightly in the night, each place packed. Then we took a closer look. It was Bingo! The next 10 miles was filled with extravagantly lit Bingo palaces (yes, some of them actually were castles). Despite the fact there had to be at least 50 of them, each place's parking lot was filled with cars. We stared in fascination. Was this where all of the elderly were now retiring? How could so many Bingo joints, on a strip of highway out in the middle of nowhere, all be successful? And why did they all look like strip clubs? Sadly (and I'm sure you're pondering the same questions), I have no answers. Also, I was a bit sad when we finally hit the next town because, once again, there was nothing to look at, especially since it was dark.
So, back to driving. Through the rest of Alabama, a chunk of Mississippi, and then Memphis, Tennessee. We finally hit Memphis, where we were supposed to switch interstates, at about one in the morning. We were both pretty tired at that point, and lets just say my navigational skill might have deteriorated a tad bit more. We were about 25 miles out of Memphis when I noticed, on an acceleration ramp, a sign that said Interstate 40. Interstate 40 runs east-west. We were supposed to be on 55, which ran north-south. Hmmm, something was definitely not right.
"Ummm, Jeremy. I think we're going the wrong direction."
"What? Why?"
"Well, I just saw a sign that said we were on 40." Several rather unsavory words then came out of Jeremy's mouth. And a sigh.
"I guess we'll just have to turn around and go back."
"But we're like a third of the way to Little Rock. Why don't we just take 40 to 35, then head north?" Jeremy just looked at me incredulously.
"Lisa, where does 40 intersect with 35?" I looked through the atlas and said matter-of-factly "Oklahoma City."
"So, you want me to go to Oklahoma City, then head north?"
"Sure!"
"Lisa, look at the map. Where is Oklahoma City? Where is Des Moines, Iowa?" I didn't even need to look at the map as it slowly dawned on my sleep-fogged mind.
"Oh," I said smally. "Maybe that's not the best route."
"You think?" Jeremy asked as he took the next exit. We turned around and made our way back toward Memphis. Definitely quicker to turn around than to take my proposed route. Another hour and a half of driving and we were in southern Missouri. By this point, it was like 3:30 in the morning (2:30 central time). Great, 4 hours of sleep, and we had to be up and on the road again. Jeremy got us a wake-up call and we flopped into bed.
Promptly at 6:30, the phone rang. I usually wake up very cheery and talkative. This time, I was cheery, but not really awake at all.
"Good morning," I happily slurred into the phone.
"It's a recording, isn't it," Jeremy laughed. Well, at least I put somebody in a good mood this morning.
"Ummm, yes," I said, putting the phone down. "I don't think I should be awake yet."
"Too bad. Hit the shower." What is this? Boot camp! I grumbled and stumbled through the dark, preparing for Travel Day 2. I groaned as the lyrics to "On the Road Again," popped into my head. Willie Nelson could not have been writing what he actually felt in that song. That or his on the road again involved a 5 minute trip to a convenience store.
The first part of the trip started out very nice. As a passenger, I looked around at the beautiful, Georgia countryside, at little towns we hadn't yet explored, and then realized I had to pee. Okay, so me being an idyllic passenger lasted roughly one hour.
"Jeremy?"
"Yes?"
"I think I have to pee."
"Already? Didn't you go before we left?"
"Yes, but I think I have to pee again."
"You think? So that means you can wait another half hour or hour?"
"Umm, maybe I've progressed past the 'I think I have to pee stage' to the "I really have to pee soon stage," I replied, giving a sweet little grin to try and lessen his obvious displeasure.
"Then why didn't you just say you have to pee?"
"I was trying to break it to you gently."
Sigh from Jeremy, "Okay, we'll take the next exit and find a gas station then." We take the next exit and slowly meander through a sleepy little town. Unfortunately, this appeared to be the one town without a gas station. On the very far end of town, we finally spot one.
"Jeremy, isn't that gas station on the same road we exited off of to go into town?" I asked. Jeremy sighed again. It was. We had gone through the whole town for no reason at all.
Coming out of the gas station, feeling refreshed and armed with water, soda, and a chocolate milk, Jeremy just stared at me.
"We are not stopping every hour for you to go to the bathroom. We'll never make it back!"
"Yeah, but I was thirsty," I responded. "You don't want to have to stop for me to keep getting drinks, do you?" Another sigh. I had a feeling this might become a trend.
Off we go again. And soon I'm bored again. I would read in the car, but unfortunately, if I read too long, I get carsick. I'm pretty sure Jeremy didn't want to add extra stops for that, so I start developing ideas in my head. You see, there's all these blank billboards everywhere, emphatically calling out to me "Advertise Here!" or "Rent Me!" with phone numbers listed.
"I think I should rent a billboard" I tell Jeremy.
"Why would you want to rent a billboard?"
"Well, I could put up little messages for people stuck driving ."
"Why would you do that?"
"Cuz all the billboards are so boring. I mean really, who actually stops at Pete's Western Wear? And do places like McDonald's and Wendy's really need to advertise?"
"Probably not. But why do you need a billboard? What would you actually put on it?" I pondered this for a bit.
"I don't know. How about I Like Cheese?"
"Why would anyone want to read that?"
"Because it's different. Because it really doesn't say anything at all. Maybe it would get them thinking about cheeses they like or things they like. It would have to be more interesting than Circus Shoes or Jimmy Joe's Jamboree."
"I suppose."
"Or," I said, really getting into my idea, "I could put up thought provoking things for people to debate, like 'Whoppers are Better than Big Macs.' I could have the message changed every few weeks to something new!"
Jeremy looks at me. He doesn't say anything about the idea or how ridiculous it is. He just says, "Do you know how much it would cost to rent a billboard and have it changed every week?" Damn his logic.
Back to driving, driving, driving, driving. Through Georgia, through Alabama, me navigating. Then we get to Birmingham. It really wasn't ALL my fault. You see, the atlas I was using was three years old. It showed, in jagged form, a road that connected with the interstate--a more convenient route than meandering through the north side of Birmingham to catch the same road outside of town. I mean, really, three years later, who wouldn't expect the road to be finished. So I directed Jeremy down the interstate, and roughly 10 miles out of Birmingham, we both came to the conclusion that said road still did not exist. So, we decided to just take an exit and head in the general direction of the road we wanted. This would have been much easier if my out of date atlas actually showed more than just interstates and highways. I have to say, rural, northern Alabama was very beautiful, but the roads really do wind around. We finally stopped at a gas station to figure out where in the world we were (Not my idea--I hate stopping for directions, but Jeremy knew if he didn't, I'd have him meandering for hours through rural Alabama). Fortunately, we had somehow landed less than a mile from the intersection of the road we wanted. Am I an awesome navigator or what! (Okay, so Jeremy insists that I put in here that it was not me that navigated us to that point but him. I really do think he was going off my inspiration though).
By that time, the sun had almost set. We turned onto our road and gaudy, neon glowing signs greeted us on both sides. What in the world. I thought we had hit some sort of weird strip club alley. Neon palm trees, dinosaurs, miners, flashy pink, green, blue, and purple signs shone brightly in the night, each place packed. Then we took a closer look. It was Bingo! The next 10 miles was filled with extravagantly lit Bingo palaces (yes, some of them actually were castles). Despite the fact there had to be at least 50 of them, each place's parking lot was filled with cars. We stared in fascination. Was this where all of the elderly were now retiring? How could so many Bingo joints, on a strip of highway out in the middle of nowhere, all be successful? And why did they all look like strip clubs? Sadly (and I'm sure you're pondering the same questions), I have no answers. Also, I was a bit sad when we finally hit the next town because, once again, there was nothing to look at, especially since it was dark.
So, back to driving. Through the rest of Alabama, a chunk of Mississippi, and then Memphis, Tennessee. We finally hit Memphis, where we were supposed to switch interstates, at about one in the morning. We were both pretty tired at that point, and lets just say my navigational skill might have deteriorated a tad bit more. We were about 25 miles out of Memphis when I noticed, on an acceleration ramp, a sign that said Interstate 40. Interstate 40 runs east-west. We were supposed to be on 55, which ran north-south. Hmmm, something was definitely not right.
"Ummm, Jeremy. I think we're going the wrong direction."
"What? Why?"
"Well, I just saw a sign that said we were on 40." Several rather unsavory words then came out of Jeremy's mouth. And a sigh.
"I guess we'll just have to turn around and go back."
"But we're like a third of the way to Little Rock. Why don't we just take 40 to 35, then head north?" Jeremy just looked at me incredulously.
"Lisa, where does 40 intersect with 35?" I looked through the atlas and said matter-of-factly "Oklahoma City."
"So, you want me to go to Oklahoma City, then head north?"
"Sure!"
"Lisa, look at the map. Where is Oklahoma City? Where is Des Moines, Iowa?" I didn't even need to look at the map as it slowly dawned on my sleep-fogged mind.
"Oh," I said smally. "Maybe that's not the best route."
"You think?" Jeremy asked as he took the next exit. We turned around and made our way back toward Memphis. Definitely quicker to turn around than to take my proposed route. Another hour and a half of driving and we were in southern Missouri. By this point, it was like 3:30 in the morning (2:30 central time). Great, 4 hours of sleep, and we had to be up and on the road again. Jeremy got us a wake-up call and we flopped into bed.
Promptly at 6:30, the phone rang. I usually wake up very cheery and talkative. This time, I was cheery, but not really awake at all.
"Good morning," I happily slurred into the phone.
"It's a recording, isn't it," Jeremy laughed. Well, at least I put somebody in a good mood this morning.
"Ummm, yes," I said, putting the phone down. "I don't think I should be awake yet."
"Too bad. Hit the shower." What is this? Boot camp! I grumbled and stumbled through the dark, preparing for Travel Day 2. I groaned as the lyrics to "On the Road Again," popped into my head. Willie Nelson could not have been writing what he actually felt in that song. That or his on the road again involved a 5 minute trip to a convenience store.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Shopper's Delight: April Edition
November 24
FOR SALE: WWE wrestling figures, new, still in packs, have singles, doubles, and triples, have 3 trash bags full.
Yay! Just what I always wanted! Three garbage bags of plastic, fake wrestlers! I'm guessing, since he's stored them in trash bags, they must be invaluable! I will buy them and make my fortune! I think this might be "recession" investment at it's best!
FOR SALE: 14kt while gold Marquis diamond wedding set with 6 diamond wrap band, valued $1800, sacrifice for $1000 or best offer, worn only one month.
I sense a little bitterness in this add. Wonder who she really wants to sacrifice?
FOR SALE: Antique fireplace heat dispenser with intricate carvings and fins that spread out on each side, hard to explain unless you see it, solid brass, $65.
Jeremy and I actually went to check this out, thinking it might be something we could use for our fireplace. This was around Christmastime, and when we first got to his house, he actually asked me if I "was ready for Santa Claus!" I know sometimes I look young, but, by my estimation, it's been nearly 3 decades since I've been ready for Santa Claus! Thank goodness he didn't ask me if I'd been naughty or nice because I know something smartass would have come out.
Then we looked at the "thing." I call it a thing because neither of us were really sure what exactly it was, which did corroborate his words about it being hard to explain. I think we both explained it as "junk." Same as the delapidated fishing boat and the nonrunning 1954 Plymouth something or other he then tried to sell us. After we left, Jeremy said, "I think he would have sold us his wife if we had asked."
January 5
FOR TRADE: 1965 VW Beetle for a very nice pontoon boat.
I think this guy is a little too optimistic about the worth of his beetle.
January 12
FOR SALE: 7 seasons of Walker Texas Ranger, Chuck Norris. Like new. $75. Also, 2 gun holsters.
Someone is a little too interactive with their television set.
January 26
FOR SALE: 2 guinea pigs, $25 each.
$25 for a guinea pig? Do they poop gold?
February 16
FOR SALE: Baby dwarf bunnies, $10 each, only 4 left, solid black.
Yes! I want these! They'd be a perfect addition to my miniature donkeys and fainting goats! I can have a whole collection of minature animals! Sadly, Jeremy said no again :(
FOR SALE: Pet rats, $3 each.
I can't think this would be the most lucrative business venture. . .
LOST: At Wal-Mart, a finger splint, silver color.
How exactly does one lose a finger splint? Also, I'm beginning to think if you lose anything, it someone magically appears in the Wal-Mart parking lot. It's a conspiracy! Someone needs to look into this!
February 23
FOR TRADE: 4 push lawnmowers in exchange for one good working one, or 3 push mowers in exchange for fixing one of the 4.
Woohoo! Nonworking lawnmowers! I must have them! I will set them up on blocks in a front yard and call it modern art!
March 2
FOR FREE: Yorkie-poo/? puppies.
Oooh, somebody's pedigreed dog went out and had herself a good time!
FOR SALE: Over 2 ft. stack of flattened cardboard boxes, great for packing, $15.
Granted, I often don't think the most logically, but I would pretty much assume that the boxes were great for packing before they were flattened. That and they're asking $15 for a 2 ft stack of garbage.
March 9
God Wants You: Revival!
Yes, there actually was a picture of Uncle Sam under this church revival announcement. I'm not quite sure who the genius was who conflated a patriotic symbol with a church revival--nothing like the separation of church and state.
March 30
FOR FREE: Chickens!! I have too many chickens!
Since this guy is so emphatic, I couldn't help but imagine chickens overrunning his whole house. Chickens on the roof, chickens at the table, chickens playing poker. . . Just how does one end up with too many chickens?
FOR SALE: Dates (editable fruit)
Yes! Finally an editable fruit! Now I can finally correct its bad grammar!
FOR SALE: Fantail pigeons, also Homer pigeons.
This must be part of the new Simpsons breed of pigeons. I think this one roams around with donuts and beer.
FOR SALE: WWE wrestling figures, new, still in packs, have singles, doubles, and triples, have 3 trash bags full.
Yay! Just what I always wanted! Three garbage bags of plastic, fake wrestlers! I'm guessing, since he's stored them in trash bags, they must be invaluable! I will buy them and make my fortune! I think this might be "recession" investment at it's best!
FOR SALE: 14kt while gold Marquis diamond wedding set with 6 diamond wrap band, valued $1800, sacrifice for $1000 or best offer, worn only one month.
I sense a little bitterness in this add. Wonder who she really wants to sacrifice?
FOR SALE: Antique fireplace heat dispenser with intricate carvings and fins that spread out on each side, hard to explain unless you see it, solid brass, $65.
Jeremy and I actually went to check this out, thinking it might be something we could use for our fireplace. This was around Christmastime, and when we first got to his house, he actually asked me if I "was ready for Santa Claus!" I know sometimes I look young, but, by my estimation, it's been nearly 3 decades since I've been ready for Santa Claus! Thank goodness he didn't ask me if I'd been naughty or nice because I know something smartass would have come out.
Then we looked at the "thing." I call it a thing because neither of us were really sure what exactly it was, which did corroborate his words about it being hard to explain. I think we both explained it as "junk." Same as the delapidated fishing boat and the nonrunning 1954 Plymouth something or other he then tried to sell us. After we left, Jeremy said, "I think he would have sold us his wife if we had asked."
January 5
FOR TRADE: 1965 VW Beetle for a very nice pontoon boat.
I think this guy is a little too optimistic about the worth of his beetle.
January 12
FOR SALE: 7 seasons of Walker Texas Ranger, Chuck Norris. Like new. $75. Also, 2 gun holsters.
Someone is a little too interactive with their television set.
January 26
FOR SALE: 2 guinea pigs, $25 each.
$25 for a guinea pig? Do they poop gold?
February 16
FOR SALE: Baby dwarf bunnies, $10 each, only 4 left, solid black.
Yes! I want these! They'd be a perfect addition to my miniature donkeys and fainting goats! I can have a whole collection of minature animals! Sadly, Jeremy said no again :(
FOR SALE: Pet rats, $3 each.
I can't think this would be the most lucrative business venture. . .
LOST: At Wal-Mart, a finger splint, silver color.
How exactly does one lose a finger splint? Also, I'm beginning to think if you lose anything, it someone magically appears in the Wal-Mart parking lot. It's a conspiracy! Someone needs to look into this!
February 23
FOR TRADE: 4 push lawnmowers in exchange for one good working one, or 3 push mowers in exchange for fixing one of the 4.
Woohoo! Nonworking lawnmowers! I must have them! I will set them up on blocks in a front yard and call it modern art!
March 2
FOR FREE: Yorkie-poo/? puppies.
Oooh, somebody's pedigreed dog went out and had herself a good time!
FOR SALE: Over 2 ft. stack of flattened cardboard boxes, great for packing, $15.
Granted, I often don't think the most logically, but I would pretty much assume that the boxes were great for packing before they were flattened. That and they're asking $15 for a 2 ft stack of garbage.
March 9
God Wants You: Revival!
Yes, there actually was a picture of Uncle Sam under this church revival announcement. I'm not quite sure who the genius was who conflated a patriotic symbol with a church revival--nothing like the separation of church and state.
March 30
FOR FREE: Chickens!! I have too many chickens!
Since this guy is so emphatic, I couldn't help but imagine chickens overrunning his whole house. Chickens on the roof, chickens at the table, chickens playing poker. . . Just how does one end up with too many chickens?
FOR SALE: Dates (editable fruit)
Yes! Finally an editable fruit! Now I can finally correct its bad grammar!
FOR SALE: Fantail pigeons, also Homer pigeons.
This must be part of the new Simpsons breed of pigeons. I think this one roams around with donuts and beer.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
The Great White Hunter
It's a peaceful morning. I'm grading my online classes' quizzes, and Jeremy's off to take a quick nap. The cat and both dogs are sleeping. The next thing I know, Jeremy's charging back into the kitchen.
"Where's a big piece of wood?" He asks, as he peers into the kitchen closets. I just stare at him.
"What are you doing? I thought you were taking a nap?"
"There's a huge critter above the bathroom!" He exclaims, as he continues his rampage through the kitchen. "Aha!" He deftly wields a four foot long piece of wood like a club and marches back to the bedroom.
Thud! Thud, thud! Bang, thud, whomp! So much for the peaceful morning. This continues for a good five minutes, then I watch as he scrambles up the stairs, and listen to about 10 minutes more thudding coming from the attic off the upstairs bathroom.
Storming down the stairs into the kitchen, I can't help but laugh at him. He's wearing jammy pants, a t-shirt, his hair is sprouting all over the place, there's a determined look on his face, and his still swinging the wood around like a club--a pajama vigilante.
"What! Why are you laughing at me?" I can't help myself and just keep laughing.
"You look hilarious (probably not the best thing to say to a "club" swinging husband). And the way you're charging after a little critter just adds to it."
"It's not little!" He exclaims in exaggerated outrage. "It's a huge squirrel!"
"Did you get it?" I asked.
Jeremy hesitates, looks a little sheepish, then says "No." I start laughing again. "It's not funny! The thing was huge! And it was clinging to the screen just tugging at it, trying to get out."
"So," I ask, really just wanting to torment him further, "you've armed yourself, barreled through the house, charged after a squirrel, yet the squirrel is still in the attic?"
"He was stuck back in the little corner of the attic! I would have had to scrunch myself up into a little ball to get back there!" He demonstrates the scrunching, but the way he moves his arms up to his chest sort of make him look like a squirrel. I start laughing again. "And what would you have done?" He asks me pointedly.
I know what I would have done. I would have listened to the critter, decided risking my own life (okay, so a squirrel, cat, raccoon--whatever it might have been--isn't really deadly, but. . .) was not worth it, then just listened to it scrambling through the attic. Even if I had gone into the attic, I would have just stared at it, backed out, and closed the door. At some point, it would have stopped making noises, so I could just pretend that it wasn't there. But, that wasn't the point, and I didn't bother telling Jeremy what my plan of action would have been. No sense giving him ammunition. That, and he pretty much knows what I would have done anyway.
"Besides, the thing was so loud! I'm laying there in bed, my head covered, and I can still hear it! I look over at Audrey and she's just laying there, sleeping, not even paying any attention. Some hunting dogs we have." I looked down at Audrey, who had vacated the bed as soon as Jeremy started thudding around. Apparently, Jeremy had disturbed her sleep, so she left the bedroom and was now sleeping next to my feet. We are so well protected--if a cat army decides to take over our house.
Jeremy's still grumbling because he's figured out how the squirrel got into the house. His fault of course, because when he started tearing out the plumbing to redo it, he left a huge vent open, big enough for the squirrel to get in.
By this point he's muttering something about a pellet gun, annoyed that we don't have one.
"We just have the little 22," I said to him, "but I'm pretty sure that's not a good idea."
"Yeah, that would be great, since it'd be aimed right at the courthouse. We need a pellet gun! Why don't we have one?" Jeremy's still grumbling about this as he heads back to bed for a second attempt at a nap. I have a feeling we're going to end up with a pellet gun before long. This made me giggle again, as I imagined Jeremy, decked out in safari clothes, stalking through the house with a pellet gun hunting squirrels. Then I groaned, imagining mounted squirrel heads flanking our hallway walls.
"Where's a big piece of wood?" He asks, as he peers into the kitchen closets. I just stare at him.
"What are you doing? I thought you were taking a nap?"
"There's a huge critter above the bathroom!" He exclaims, as he continues his rampage through the kitchen. "Aha!" He deftly wields a four foot long piece of wood like a club and marches back to the bedroom.
Thud! Thud, thud! Bang, thud, whomp! So much for the peaceful morning. This continues for a good five minutes, then I watch as he scrambles up the stairs, and listen to about 10 minutes more thudding coming from the attic off the upstairs bathroom.
Storming down the stairs into the kitchen, I can't help but laugh at him. He's wearing jammy pants, a t-shirt, his hair is sprouting all over the place, there's a determined look on his face, and his still swinging the wood around like a club--a pajama vigilante.
"What! Why are you laughing at me?" I can't help myself and just keep laughing.
"You look hilarious (probably not the best thing to say to a "club" swinging husband). And the way you're charging after a little critter just adds to it."
"It's not little!" He exclaims in exaggerated outrage. "It's a huge squirrel!"
"Did you get it?" I asked.
Jeremy hesitates, looks a little sheepish, then says "No." I start laughing again. "It's not funny! The thing was huge! And it was clinging to the screen just tugging at it, trying to get out."
"So," I ask, really just wanting to torment him further, "you've armed yourself, barreled through the house, charged after a squirrel, yet the squirrel is still in the attic?"
"He was stuck back in the little corner of the attic! I would have had to scrunch myself up into a little ball to get back there!" He demonstrates the scrunching, but the way he moves his arms up to his chest sort of make him look like a squirrel. I start laughing again. "And what would you have done?" He asks me pointedly.
I know what I would have done. I would have listened to the critter, decided risking my own life (okay, so a squirrel, cat, raccoon--whatever it might have been--isn't really deadly, but. . .) was not worth it, then just listened to it scrambling through the attic. Even if I had gone into the attic, I would have just stared at it, backed out, and closed the door. At some point, it would have stopped making noises, so I could just pretend that it wasn't there. But, that wasn't the point, and I didn't bother telling Jeremy what my plan of action would have been. No sense giving him ammunition. That, and he pretty much knows what I would have done anyway.
"Besides, the thing was so loud! I'm laying there in bed, my head covered, and I can still hear it! I look over at Audrey and she's just laying there, sleeping, not even paying any attention. Some hunting dogs we have." I looked down at Audrey, who had vacated the bed as soon as Jeremy started thudding around. Apparently, Jeremy had disturbed her sleep, so she left the bedroom and was now sleeping next to my feet. We are so well protected--if a cat army decides to take over our house.
Jeremy's still grumbling because he's figured out how the squirrel got into the house. His fault of course, because when he started tearing out the plumbing to redo it, he left a huge vent open, big enough for the squirrel to get in.
By this point he's muttering something about a pellet gun, annoyed that we don't have one.
"We just have the little 22," I said to him, "but I'm pretty sure that's not a good idea."
"Yeah, that would be great, since it'd be aimed right at the courthouse. We need a pellet gun! Why don't we have one?" Jeremy's still grumbling about this as he heads back to bed for a second attempt at a nap. I have a feeling we're going to end up with a pellet gun before long. This made me giggle again, as I imagined Jeremy, decked out in safari clothes, stalking through the house with a pellet gun hunting squirrels. Then I groaned, imagining mounted squirrel heads flanking our hallway walls.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
Nothing Runs into You Like a Deer
I love deer, and I hate deer. They're the tastiest things to eat, they're beautiful aniamls, but, I swear, they're the stupidest animals ever. A few weeks ago, I was on my way to work. I was running a little late because I had to have that last cup of coffee. I'd made it only about two miles out of town when I spotted deer bounding across the road ahead of me. I slowed down, watched, but didn't see anymore. Just as I started to speed up again, a deer sprinted out, from the opposite direction of the ones I had just seemed.
It almost felt like slow motion. I watched the deer sprint toward Jeremy's truck. All I could think was, "There's nothing I can do to avoid hitting this deer." For a brief moment, the deer changed directions and was just running along the side of the truck. It was almost surreal, and the deer was so beautiful. Then, in an instant, it decided it was kamikaze deer. BAM! It ran right into the driver's side door. The window glass shattered, sprinkling all over me and the driver's side.
My heart was racing as, somehow instinctively with no thoughts in my head, I slowed down and pulled over on the side of the road. I just sat there, shaking, unalbe to process anything. This fact was most obvious when, seconds later, a van pulled alongside me. The woman in the passenger seat rolled down the window.
"Are you okay?" She asked.
This I could actually process. Other than some glass inside my shoes and my racing heart, no problems.
"I'm fine," I replied. "Just a little shaken up." That was definitely an understatement, since I was fairly certain there was no way I could get out of the truck and actually stand on my own. And that's pretty much where all logical thinking stopped.
The woman then asked, "Do you need any help? Do you need to borrow a phone?"
I "calmly" told her, "No, I'm fine. I just live a couple miles back, and my husband's at home. She nodded her head, and I watched the van ease down the road.
It was only then that it hit me. 1) I didn't have a cell phone, since mine had died after it got a little "bath." Therefore, I actually had no way to call Jeremy. On top of that, I knew I as at least 2 or 3 miles out of town. What was I planning to do? Walk back? I sat in the cab for a few minutes, contemplating my stupidity. Nothing else to do, I figured I might as well get out and check the damage.
Gingerly, trying to avoid all the tiny glass fragments, I opened the door and stepped out. Yep, the deer had run right into me. The driver's side door was completely smashed. In fact, to get back into the truck, I had to reach through the window and use the inside door handle, since the outside one was no longer functioning. There was also a much smaller dent on the front fender, and the hood was slighltly popped up. Survey complete, I climbed back into the truck and just sat tere, amongst the glass, not sure what the hell to do.
Fortunately, a truck with 2 guys pulled up behind me within minutes. This time, I took the prooffered cell phone and called Jeremy, making sure to emphasize (given his usual critiques of my driving) that it was the deer who had hit me. After calling Jeremy, I once again stepped out of the truck. Silently surveying the damage with the men.
"He really got you, didn't he," one of the men said.
"Yep. Straight into my door."
Okay, we were stating the obvious, but really, what more is there to say?
Determining everything was under control, the two men headed back to their truck and took off. It was at that point I saw the deer on the far shoulder of the road, trying to get up. I instantly felt horrible, hoping the animal would be okay.
Minutes later, Jeremy pulled up. Once again, I got out and stood looking at the damage. I noticed what looked like little fibers coming off the door handle and asked Jeremy what it was.
"That's deer fur," he replied.
"Lovely."
I looked back at the deer and was surprised to see it was gone. I felt slightly bad when the first thing out of my mouth was "Damn, the venison is gone." But by that time, I was "slightly" angry about the amount of damage to the truck.
Heading back into town, we flagged down a passing city cop, who sent us to the sheriff's office, who sent us back out to the truck to wait for a sheriff. About ten minutes later, the sheriff pulled up, and yes, again, we silently surveyed the damage. By this point, I was getting pretty sick of looking at a smashed door on a truck.
Obviously, there wasn't anything to say. So he told us we needed to call the insurance company, then head back to the sheriff's office and fill out a form for the insurance company.
Finished with the sheriff, I climbed back into the truck and, very, very slowly, followed Jeremy home. I was paranoid that another deer was going to jump out in front of me, positive they were plotting vehicular demise like the squirrels in the Geico commercial.
Immediately, I called into work and left a message that I wouldn't be in, giving all the details why. Calling the insurance company, we quickly discovered that, since the truck was older, we hadn't gotten collision insurance on it. So, absolutely no dedictible. I was no longer feeling guilty about the deer's condition, but rather fuming because the venison was gone. If only the deer would have flipped into the back of the truck! This thought only grew stronger when we discovered it would cost $1200 just to fix the door. After that revelation, I went to the freezer, pulled out a package of ground venison, and we had chili for supper.
Since we no longer needed to fill out the form at the sheriff's office, I had plently of time to make it to my last class, which started at 11. I rounded up all my stuff and headed out to my Isuzu, which I hadn't driven for weeks. I stuck the key in the ignition and turned it. Click, click, click, click it went. Disbelieving, I turned the key again. Click, click, click, click. Yep, dead battery.
Sighing, I grabbed all my stuff, headed into the house, and dropped it all in the hallway. I gave up on the whole, entire day and pulled up a game on my computer. The only thing that might have been more calming was if I had that Deer Hunter game.
It almost felt like slow motion. I watched the deer sprint toward Jeremy's truck. All I could think was, "There's nothing I can do to avoid hitting this deer." For a brief moment, the deer changed directions and was just running along the side of the truck. It was almost surreal, and the deer was so beautiful. Then, in an instant, it decided it was kamikaze deer. BAM! It ran right into the driver's side door. The window glass shattered, sprinkling all over me and the driver's side.
My heart was racing as, somehow instinctively with no thoughts in my head, I slowed down and pulled over on the side of the road. I just sat there, shaking, unalbe to process anything. This fact was most obvious when, seconds later, a van pulled alongside me. The woman in the passenger seat rolled down the window.
"Are you okay?" She asked.
This I could actually process. Other than some glass inside my shoes and my racing heart, no problems.
"I'm fine," I replied. "Just a little shaken up." That was definitely an understatement, since I was fairly certain there was no way I could get out of the truck and actually stand on my own. And that's pretty much where all logical thinking stopped.
The woman then asked, "Do you need any help? Do you need to borrow a phone?"
I "calmly" told her, "No, I'm fine. I just live a couple miles back, and my husband's at home. She nodded her head, and I watched the van ease down the road.
It was only then that it hit me. 1) I didn't have a cell phone, since mine had died after it got a little "bath." Therefore, I actually had no way to call Jeremy. On top of that, I knew I as at least 2 or 3 miles out of town. What was I planning to do? Walk back? I sat in the cab for a few minutes, contemplating my stupidity. Nothing else to do, I figured I might as well get out and check the damage.
Gingerly, trying to avoid all the tiny glass fragments, I opened the door and stepped out. Yep, the deer had run right into me. The driver's side door was completely smashed. In fact, to get back into the truck, I had to reach through the window and use the inside door handle, since the outside one was no longer functioning. There was also a much smaller dent on the front fender, and the hood was slighltly popped up. Survey complete, I climbed back into the truck and just sat tere, amongst the glass, not sure what the hell to do.
Fortunately, a truck with 2 guys pulled up behind me within minutes. This time, I took the prooffered cell phone and called Jeremy, making sure to emphasize (given his usual critiques of my driving) that it was the deer who had hit me. After calling Jeremy, I once again stepped out of the truck. Silently surveying the damage with the men.
"He really got you, didn't he," one of the men said.
"Yep. Straight into my door."
Okay, we were stating the obvious, but really, what more is there to say?
Determining everything was under control, the two men headed back to their truck and took off. It was at that point I saw the deer on the far shoulder of the road, trying to get up. I instantly felt horrible, hoping the animal would be okay.
Minutes later, Jeremy pulled up. Once again, I got out and stood looking at the damage. I noticed what looked like little fibers coming off the door handle and asked Jeremy what it was.
"That's deer fur," he replied.
"Lovely."
I looked back at the deer and was surprised to see it was gone. I felt slightly bad when the first thing out of my mouth was "Damn, the venison is gone." But by that time, I was "slightly" angry about the amount of damage to the truck.
Heading back into town, we flagged down a passing city cop, who sent us to the sheriff's office, who sent us back out to the truck to wait for a sheriff. About ten minutes later, the sheriff pulled up, and yes, again, we silently surveyed the damage. By this point, I was getting pretty sick of looking at a smashed door on a truck.
Obviously, there wasn't anything to say. So he told us we needed to call the insurance company, then head back to the sheriff's office and fill out a form for the insurance company.
Finished with the sheriff, I climbed back into the truck and, very, very slowly, followed Jeremy home. I was paranoid that another deer was going to jump out in front of me, positive they were plotting vehicular demise like the squirrels in the Geico commercial.
Immediately, I called into work and left a message that I wouldn't be in, giving all the details why. Calling the insurance company, we quickly discovered that, since the truck was older, we hadn't gotten collision insurance on it. So, absolutely no dedictible. I was no longer feeling guilty about the deer's condition, but rather fuming because the venison was gone. If only the deer would have flipped into the back of the truck! This thought only grew stronger when we discovered it would cost $1200 just to fix the door. After that revelation, I went to the freezer, pulled out a package of ground venison, and we had chili for supper.
Since we no longer needed to fill out the form at the sheriff's office, I had plently of time to make it to my last class, which started at 11. I rounded up all my stuff and headed out to my Isuzu, which I hadn't driven for weeks. I stuck the key in the ignition and turned it. Click, click, click, click it went. Disbelieving, I turned the key again. Click, click, click, click. Yep, dead battery.
Sighing, I grabbed all my stuff, headed into the house, and dropped it all in the hallway. I gave up on the whole, entire day and pulled up a game on my computer. The only thing that might have been more calming was if I had that Deer Hunter game.
Love Letter to my Husband
Jeremy is huffy this morning. He says he's on strike; he's not going to pet any of the animals today. You see, after getting up, letting the dogs out, feeding and watering both the dogs and the cat, he thought they'd spend some quality time with him. Instead, when I woke up, they were all back in the bedroom with me, scattered across the bed. Apparently, after all their needs were met, Audrey immediately went back to the bedroom door and started whining to get in. Followed by Binny. Jeremy was just telling Jack how the "men" could spend some quality time together, when Jack got up and trotted to the bedroom door. That was the last straw for Jeremy, so now he's pouting a bit.
I figured he might need a little pick me up after his abandonment this morning, so I decided I'd put together a nice little love letter, well, my style of love letter, for him.
First, I thought I'd start with a list of things I probably should feel bad about, but really don't. I'll use I'm sorry to make it sound better.
1. I'm sorry I steal all the covers at night.
2. I'm sorry I instinctively make more room in the bed for the animals at night, leaving you a rather small sliver of bed.
3. I'm sorry I Leave bras dropped around the house wherever I happen to take them off at night.
4. I'm sorry that when I don't want to do something, I make comments like "Oh, I so don't feel like letting the dogs out," rather than just asking you to do it.
5. I'm sorry I don't wipe my feet off after I get out of the shower, making puddles all over the bathroom floor.
6. I'm sorry when I inentionally leave half a cup of coffee in the coffeemaker just so I don't have to make the next pot.
7. I'm sorry I don't like The Chronicles of Riddick or Tron and have made so many jokes about those movies.
8. I'm sorry when I forget to empty the cat's litterbox until an unpleasant aroma invades the kitchen.
9. I'm sorry I keep squashing the garbage down in the can and adding more until it's impossible to get the bag out. (I have tried to remedy this, sticking post it reminders on the can, but. . .)
10. I'm sorry I have an uncanny ability not to see dust. By the way, please don't shut off any of the ceiling fans.
11. I'm sorry when we go shopping and you continually lose me because everything distracts me.
12. I'm also sorry that I can't shop in an "organized" manner and meander, seemingly with no purpose, through the aisles.
13. I'm sorry I can't resist eating all of your leftover pizza.
14. I'm sorry you frequently end up with pink, lime green, and lavender socks and t-shirts. Who would've thought one colored towel could do that?
15. I'm sorry I often start a conversation out loud, continue it and change topics in my head, then, to your confusion, voice the new topic out loud. I know how I got there, shouldn't you?
I'm sure there are a ton more that I can add to this, and I'm positive Jeremy, once he reads this, will have a plethora to add as well. However, no it's time to move on to the list of things I love about my husband.
1. I love how excited he gets about the little things. But really, we don't need photos of every mouse we catch in the electric trap. They sort of all look the same . . . like dead mice.
2. I love how he says, "My god," shakes his head, and laughs every time I do or say something stupid. Like telling someone our house once had a two story outhouse. Oops!
3. I love how he always makes up silly little songs about everything. I'm not sure which is my favorite--the "Gotta Pee" song or the "Making a Fire" song.
4. I love how he feeds me things, like berries off a bush, and he always gets the tasty ones, while I get the ones that taste horrid.
5. I love the way he constantly critiques my driving skills (you back into your father-in-law's car once. . .), but always has me drive us everywhere.
6. I love how he buys me things then ends up using them himself. For instance, the Cheetos he bought for me on Thursday and ate on Friday.
7. I love the fact that he so often goes along with ideas I have, even if it means turning our house into the Griswolds' at Christmas time.
8. I love how he somtimes puts up such a valiant attempt to disuade me from my ideas. I still want to put up lights for every holiday (Valentine's, President's Day, St. Patrick's Day, Easter. . .) even if no one else does.
9. I love how his hair looks in the morning-that sort of sprouty all over with a slight mohawk look.
10. I love how he can look at something and visualize how it should/will look. I do the same thing and end up way off. Like the roughly 600 square foot flower bed in front of our old house that I thought I could fill with about 100 bulbs. He then added 3 crepe myrtle trees, a weeping cherry tree, 2 camillias, 5 shrubs, 5 hostas, a weigela shrub, and a whole row of daylillies.
11. I love how he lets me drag him to small town festivals whenever I want. But then again, who wouldn't leap at the chance to go to the Peanut Festival, the Wild Hog Festival, the Wild Chicken Festival, the Crawfish Festival. . .
12. I love how he always points out all the cows and goats ("Cows!" "Goats!") whenver we're driving somewhere.
13. I love how he ends up chasing Binny through the whole house, up and down the stairs, before she finally just stops. I especially love seeing her blurred, gray fur streak down the stairs with Jeremy following and grumbling after. All that just to get her in the bedroom at night.
14. I love how he will find little things he thinks I will like and picks them up for me. Everything from pretty wildflowers to jewelry.
15. I love the sound of his laugh, and I love that the stupid things I do and say make him laugh so much. I will never get enough of the twinkle his eyes get and the way his cheeks look when he's happy and laughing, even if it's at me.
I figured he might need a little pick me up after his abandonment this morning, so I decided I'd put together a nice little love letter, well, my style of love letter, for him.
First, I thought I'd start with a list of things I probably should feel bad about, but really don't. I'll use I'm sorry to make it sound better.
1. I'm sorry I steal all the covers at night.
2. I'm sorry I instinctively make more room in the bed for the animals at night, leaving you a rather small sliver of bed.
3. I'm sorry I Leave bras dropped around the house wherever I happen to take them off at night.
4. I'm sorry that when I don't want to do something, I make comments like "Oh, I so don't feel like letting the dogs out," rather than just asking you to do it.
5. I'm sorry I don't wipe my feet off after I get out of the shower, making puddles all over the bathroom floor.
6. I'm sorry when I inentionally leave half a cup of coffee in the coffeemaker just so I don't have to make the next pot.
7. I'm sorry I don't like The Chronicles of Riddick or Tron and have made so many jokes about those movies.
8. I'm sorry when I forget to empty the cat's litterbox until an unpleasant aroma invades the kitchen.
9. I'm sorry I keep squashing the garbage down in the can and adding more until it's impossible to get the bag out. (I have tried to remedy this, sticking post it reminders on the can, but. . .)
10. I'm sorry I have an uncanny ability not to see dust. By the way, please don't shut off any of the ceiling fans.
11. I'm sorry when we go shopping and you continually lose me because everything distracts me.
12. I'm also sorry that I can't shop in an "organized" manner and meander, seemingly with no purpose, through the aisles.
13. I'm sorry I can't resist eating all of your leftover pizza.
14. I'm sorry you frequently end up with pink, lime green, and lavender socks and t-shirts. Who would've thought one colored towel could do that?
15. I'm sorry I often start a conversation out loud, continue it and change topics in my head, then, to your confusion, voice the new topic out loud. I know how I got there, shouldn't you?
I'm sure there are a ton more that I can add to this, and I'm positive Jeremy, once he reads this, will have a plethora to add as well. However, no it's time to move on to the list of things I love about my husband.
1. I love how excited he gets about the little things. But really, we don't need photos of every mouse we catch in the electric trap. They sort of all look the same . . . like dead mice.
2. I love how he says, "My god," shakes his head, and laughs every time I do or say something stupid. Like telling someone our house once had a two story outhouse. Oops!
3. I love how he always makes up silly little songs about everything. I'm not sure which is my favorite--the "Gotta Pee" song or the "Making a Fire" song.
4. I love how he feeds me things, like berries off a bush, and he always gets the tasty ones, while I get the ones that taste horrid.
5. I love the way he constantly critiques my driving skills (you back into your father-in-law's car once. . .), but always has me drive us everywhere.
6. I love how he buys me things then ends up using them himself. For instance, the Cheetos he bought for me on Thursday and ate on Friday.
7. I love the fact that he so often goes along with ideas I have, even if it means turning our house into the Griswolds' at Christmas time.
8. I love how he somtimes puts up such a valiant attempt to disuade me from my ideas. I still want to put up lights for every holiday (Valentine's, President's Day, St. Patrick's Day, Easter. . .) even if no one else does.
9. I love how his hair looks in the morning-that sort of sprouty all over with a slight mohawk look.
10. I love how he can look at something and visualize how it should/will look. I do the same thing and end up way off. Like the roughly 600 square foot flower bed in front of our old house that I thought I could fill with about 100 bulbs. He then added 3 crepe myrtle trees, a weeping cherry tree, 2 camillias, 5 shrubs, 5 hostas, a weigela shrub, and a whole row of daylillies.
11. I love how he lets me drag him to small town festivals whenever I want. But then again, who wouldn't leap at the chance to go to the Peanut Festival, the Wild Hog Festival, the Wild Chicken Festival, the Crawfish Festival. . .
12. I love how he always points out all the cows and goats ("Cows!" "Goats!") whenver we're driving somewhere.
13. I love how he ends up chasing Binny through the whole house, up and down the stairs, before she finally just stops. I especially love seeing her blurred, gray fur streak down the stairs with Jeremy following and grumbling after. All that just to get her in the bedroom at night.
14. I love how he will find little things he thinks I will like and picks them up for me. Everything from pretty wildflowers to jewelry.
15. I love the sound of his laugh, and I love that the stupid things I do and say make him laugh so much. I will never get enough of the twinkle his eyes get and the way his cheeks look when he's happy and laughing, even if it's at me.
Saturday, February 7, 2009
This Old House: Windows and Critters
I came home from work about three weeks ago--one of the windiest, chilliest days we'd had all winter. I walk in the door, and Jeremy comes trotting down the stairs.
"You just missed it!" he exclaims.
"What?" I'm thinking "grand" things, like maybe the gas company finally showed up, and we were going to have heat in a few rooms. . . Nope.
"The wind just blew the window out in your office! The whole thing crashed down to the ground!" Great. That was exactly what I was hoping for. Since little work has been done on this house in the past 30 or 40 years, most of the windows in our house, while still original, are in such bad shape that we can't even open them. This includes the window in my office that just fell out. Someone had been thoughtful enough to post a sticky note on this window saying, "Do not open. Window will fall out." Apparently, one should also not blow on the window or it will fall out too. So we tack up a piece of plywood over the now gaping window. But the plywood's not quite big enough, and there's still a nice sized gap--a gap big enough for any number of critters to get through. As I watch the dead leaves swirl across my office floor, I slowly made my way out to the "warmer" climes of the hallway and pull my office door shut. Since we have to order supplies to fix the window, I know it's going to be weeks before the plywood is gone.
Needless to say, every time I have to grab something out of my office over the next few weeks, I brace myself, waiting for birds to dive bomb me or squirrels and raccoons to launch an attack. After so long without the slightest sign of animals in my office, I guess I got a little sloppy and forgot to shut my office door.
Why it's me that always discovers these things, I have no idea. But I walk into the shop upstairs one morning to grab a tool for Jeremy, look in the shop, turn around, walk out, and ponder. I open the door, walk in, watch for a while, duck, then shut the door and go downstairs.
"Umm, Jeremy?"
"Yes?" He looks at me and waits.
"You know that segment on Sesame Street they used to do where one thing was different or didn't belong in the group?" I ask. Jeremy just looks at me quizzically. I have developed my own special way of delivering slightly bad news by asking seemingly innocuous questions. Like a few weeks ago, on an extremely cold night when we forgot to start the water dripping in the tub. I got up, turned on the water to take a shower, and nothing. I was only half awake, so I repeated this turning on and off process several times, each time somewhat perplexed by the lack of water. Of course, I knew what this meant, but how do you break the news to a still sleeping husband at 6 a.m.? I went back to the bedroom, tapped him gently, and said, "Jeremy?"
"What?" He asked groggily.
"What does it mean when no water comes out of the shower?" Several hours later after some high tech work (a hairdryer), we had running water again.
Which brings us back to the current dilemma.
"What?" Jeremy asks, looking confused and wondering why the heck I'm referencing Sesame Street.
"Well, it's sort of like that in your shop right now. There's something there that doesn't quite belong. I follow him as he trots up the stairs and opens the door. We both stand and watch the bird flying frantically through the room, banging against one window then another.
"Hmmm," he says as he shuts the door.
Now, a bird is, by far, the lesser of all "evils" that could get into our house. Squirrels running through the space between the floors at night is always fun, especially with dogs who are frustrated because they can't see or get to the squirrels. Then there was the upheaval in the kitchen the night Jeremy was trying to catch a mouse running amok. By the end of that little romp, everything was pulled off my counters, the stove was pulled out, cupboards were hanging open, and Jeremy was off to buy a mousetrap.
Yes, a bird was hardly a problem (although the little lizards are the easiest. They're slow and sluggish, so all you have to do is pick them off wherever they're perched--railings, moldings, walls--and set them outside. Most of the time, they don't even try to run). Except for one thing. We both remembered the last time a bird got into the house. Hours of Jeremy, followed by dogs, followed by cat, tromping up and down the downstairs hallway, up and down the stairs, up and down the upstairs hallway--basically, a heard of elephants, half of them barking, trailing a bird that could perch 12 feet up on the crown molding. Did Jeremy ever get the bird? No.
So, as we silently contemplated our options regarding the bird in the shop, we also came to an agreement that more coffee was in order. I really can't say how many cups of coffee it takes to come up with a plan to get rid of a bird, but. . . I also hate to admit what the plan was, since it was so obvious and easy. Jeremy simply opened the window, shut the door again, and the bird flew out. Fortunately, I think that also bumped up the priority for fixing my window when he started thinking about what might come in next. I now have a lovely new pane of glass in my windows, copper chains in place, so both the upper and lower sashes easily glide up and down with no chance of it falling out, and Jeremy has it sanded and stained with weather stripping in place to make it air tight. One window down, 32 more to go!
"You just missed it!" he exclaims.
"What?" I'm thinking "grand" things, like maybe the gas company finally showed up, and we were going to have heat in a few rooms. . . Nope.
"The wind just blew the window out in your office! The whole thing crashed down to the ground!" Great. That was exactly what I was hoping for. Since little work has been done on this house in the past 30 or 40 years, most of the windows in our house, while still original, are in such bad shape that we can't even open them. This includes the window in my office that just fell out. Someone had been thoughtful enough to post a sticky note on this window saying, "Do not open. Window will fall out." Apparently, one should also not blow on the window or it will fall out too. So we tack up a piece of plywood over the now gaping window. But the plywood's not quite big enough, and there's still a nice sized gap--a gap big enough for any number of critters to get through. As I watch the dead leaves swirl across my office floor, I slowly made my way out to the "warmer" climes of the hallway and pull my office door shut. Since we have to order supplies to fix the window, I know it's going to be weeks before the plywood is gone.
Needless to say, every time I have to grab something out of my office over the next few weeks, I brace myself, waiting for birds to dive bomb me or squirrels and raccoons to launch an attack. After so long without the slightest sign of animals in my office, I guess I got a little sloppy and forgot to shut my office door.
Why it's me that always discovers these things, I have no idea. But I walk into the shop upstairs one morning to grab a tool for Jeremy, look in the shop, turn around, walk out, and ponder. I open the door, walk in, watch for a while, duck, then shut the door and go downstairs.
"Umm, Jeremy?"
"Yes?" He looks at me and waits.
"You know that segment on Sesame Street they used to do where one thing was different or didn't belong in the group?" I ask. Jeremy just looks at me quizzically. I have developed my own special way of delivering slightly bad news by asking seemingly innocuous questions. Like a few weeks ago, on an extremely cold night when we forgot to start the water dripping in the tub. I got up, turned on the water to take a shower, and nothing. I was only half awake, so I repeated this turning on and off process several times, each time somewhat perplexed by the lack of water. Of course, I knew what this meant, but how do you break the news to a still sleeping husband at 6 a.m.? I went back to the bedroom, tapped him gently, and said, "Jeremy?"
"What?" He asked groggily.
"What does it mean when no water comes out of the shower?" Several hours later after some high tech work (a hairdryer), we had running water again.
Which brings us back to the current dilemma.
"What?" Jeremy asks, looking confused and wondering why the heck I'm referencing Sesame Street.
"Well, it's sort of like that in your shop right now. There's something there that doesn't quite belong. I follow him as he trots up the stairs and opens the door. We both stand and watch the bird flying frantically through the room, banging against one window then another.
"Hmmm," he says as he shuts the door.
Now, a bird is, by far, the lesser of all "evils" that could get into our house. Squirrels running through the space between the floors at night is always fun, especially with dogs who are frustrated because they can't see or get to the squirrels. Then there was the upheaval in the kitchen the night Jeremy was trying to catch a mouse running amok. By the end of that little romp, everything was pulled off my counters, the stove was pulled out, cupboards were hanging open, and Jeremy was off to buy a mousetrap.
Yes, a bird was hardly a problem (although the little lizards are the easiest. They're slow and sluggish, so all you have to do is pick them off wherever they're perched--railings, moldings, walls--and set them outside. Most of the time, they don't even try to run). Except for one thing. We both remembered the last time a bird got into the house. Hours of Jeremy, followed by dogs, followed by cat, tromping up and down the downstairs hallway, up and down the stairs, up and down the upstairs hallway--basically, a heard of elephants, half of them barking, trailing a bird that could perch 12 feet up on the crown molding. Did Jeremy ever get the bird? No.
So, as we silently contemplated our options regarding the bird in the shop, we also came to an agreement that more coffee was in order. I really can't say how many cups of coffee it takes to come up with a plan to get rid of a bird, but. . . I also hate to admit what the plan was, since it was so obvious and easy. Jeremy simply opened the window, shut the door again, and the bird flew out. Fortunately, I think that also bumped up the priority for fixing my window when he started thinking about what might come in next. I now have a lovely new pane of glass in my windows, copper chains in place, so both the upper and lower sashes easily glide up and down with no chance of it falling out, and Jeremy has it sanded and stained with weather stripping in place to make it air tight. One window down, 32 more to go!
Random Conversations
While trying to make a fire out of wood that just a "tiny" bit too green:
"How's that for a blazing fire?" Jeremy jokes.
"It's very impressive," I say, as I listen to the water-laden wood sizzle like a teapot, and I ponder the tiny flames barely creeping onto the wood.
"I could add some kerosene. We've got plenty," Jeremy says.
"I'm pretty sure that's a bad idea," I respond.
"Really? You think?" Jeremy asks.
"Just venturing a guess."
"I'll just have to get more aggressive and add more green wood." I watch him plop on more wood and wonder when the tea will be ready. A few minutes later, I look up at the fire again.
"What the hell is that!"
"I got more aggressive," Jeremy says. That's for sure. There's now what looks like a wood cairn in our fireplace, and still only the bottom embers are burning.
I contemplate projects and lists:
"Are there any projects you can think of that you'd like me to work on this spring and summer?" I ask Jeremy.
"The wallpaper border."
"I mean besides the wallpaper border."
"The wallpaper border," he replies again. At this point, I'm fairly certain he's just not understanding my question, though I'm positive I've phrased it as simply as possible.
"No, besides the wallpaper border. Projects that you want to get done that I can help with." I'm thinking things like stripping paint off bricks, painting, scraping paint off the house. . . Jeremy just looks at me.
"The wallpaper border. Why would you want to add more projects to the one you haven't even finished?"
"I like lists." I'm pretty sure there was an eye roll along with his sigh this time.
"I know you like lists, but why do you need a list of things you'll never do?" I think I need to contemplate that one before I can come up with the appropriate response.
Just another Friday night at the Bro house:
"Okay, I'm going to check the fire, go to the bathroom, brush my teeth, grab a beer, and then sit back down," Jeremy says, announcing his extremely motivated plan.
"That's a. . . That's a. . ." Damn. I couldn't find the word I was looking for! I hate it when that happens and have trouble letting it go until I finally think of the word.
"That's a what?" Jeremy asks.
"It's a word that goes along with agenda--like when somebody has a lot they have planned to do," I replied.
"Aggressive?"
"No, that's not it. I'm positive it starts with either an a or an i though."
"Impressive?"
"Nope, that's not it either."
Jeremy gets up, opens the door, and walks into the hall. "Hello hallway!" Now, most people might question why he's talking to the hallway, but I can't say I haven't done weirder things. "Echo. Echo," I hear him say as he makes his way to the bedroom.
I return to the word I can't think of. I ask Binny, who's sitting on my lap, what the word is. She apparently has no idea either. Some help she is. For some reason, instead of the word I'm looking for, the lyrics to "Safety Dance" pop into my head. I pick Binny up, move her like she's dancing, and sing "You can dance if you want to." Then I realize that's the only lyric I can think of and set her back down. I hear Jeremy coming back.
"Echo. Echo. Echo," he calls as he heads back to the kitchen. Sitting, he says, "I didn't realize the hallway echoed so much! That's really cool! Did you know it did that?"
"Yep. Why do you think we can hear Binny howl through the house when she's out there?" Then I switch back. "I still can't think of the word, and it's driving me nuts!"
"Did you ask Binny?" Jeremy queries.
"Yep. She wasn't any help either. Then I had her do the Safety Dance. I don't think she appreciated it."
"Inundated?" Jeremy asks?
"No, that's when you're overwhelmed with stuff to do."
"Inebriated? Intoxicated? Indebted?" Now he's just throwing out words that start with an i. This is no help at all. "I think I'm done with this conversation," he says. Really? I would never have guessed.
The next morning, we're sitting there having coffee, and it finally pops into my head.
"Ambitious!" I exclaim.
"What?"
"That's the word--ambitious!"
"That's like the simplest word to come up with. And that does not even fit the definition you were giving last night," he says.
"Yes it does," I protest.
"It does not. You were saying someone with a lot to do--what you're talking about is more like aggressive."
"Well, maybe the definition didn't come out quite right, but that's definitely fits the definition I had in my head."
Giving me the response I've grown quite accustomed to at this point, he looks at me, sighs, and says, "Imagine that."
"How's that for a blazing fire?" Jeremy jokes.
"It's very impressive," I say, as I listen to the water-laden wood sizzle like a teapot, and I ponder the tiny flames barely creeping onto the wood.
"I could add some kerosene. We've got plenty," Jeremy says.
"I'm pretty sure that's a bad idea," I respond.
"Really? You think?" Jeremy asks.
"Just venturing a guess."
"I'll just have to get more aggressive and add more green wood." I watch him plop on more wood and wonder when the tea will be ready. A few minutes later, I look up at the fire again.
"What the hell is that!"
"I got more aggressive," Jeremy says. That's for sure. There's now what looks like a wood cairn in our fireplace, and still only the bottom embers are burning.
I contemplate projects and lists:
"Are there any projects you can think of that you'd like me to work on this spring and summer?" I ask Jeremy.
"The wallpaper border."
"I mean besides the wallpaper border."
"The wallpaper border," he replies again. At this point, I'm fairly certain he's just not understanding my question, though I'm positive I've phrased it as simply as possible.
"No, besides the wallpaper border. Projects that you want to get done that I can help with." I'm thinking things like stripping paint off bricks, painting, scraping paint off the house. . . Jeremy just looks at me.
"The wallpaper border. Why would you want to add more projects to the one you haven't even finished?"
"I like lists." I'm pretty sure there was an eye roll along with his sigh this time.
"I know you like lists, but why do you need a list of things you'll never do?" I think I need to contemplate that one before I can come up with the appropriate response.
Just another Friday night at the Bro house:
"Okay, I'm going to check the fire, go to the bathroom, brush my teeth, grab a beer, and then sit back down," Jeremy says, announcing his extremely motivated plan.
"That's a. . . That's a. . ." Damn. I couldn't find the word I was looking for! I hate it when that happens and have trouble letting it go until I finally think of the word.
"That's a what?" Jeremy asks.
"It's a word that goes along with agenda--like when somebody has a lot they have planned to do," I replied.
"Aggressive?"
"No, that's not it. I'm positive it starts with either an a or an i though."
"Impressive?"
"Nope, that's not it either."
Jeremy gets up, opens the door, and walks into the hall. "Hello hallway!" Now, most people might question why he's talking to the hallway, but I can't say I haven't done weirder things. "Echo. Echo," I hear him say as he makes his way to the bedroom.
I return to the word I can't think of. I ask Binny, who's sitting on my lap, what the word is. She apparently has no idea either. Some help she is. For some reason, instead of the word I'm looking for, the lyrics to "Safety Dance" pop into my head. I pick Binny up, move her like she's dancing, and sing "You can dance if you want to." Then I realize that's the only lyric I can think of and set her back down. I hear Jeremy coming back.
"Echo. Echo. Echo," he calls as he heads back to the kitchen. Sitting, he says, "I didn't realize the hallway echoed so much! That's really cool! Did you know it did that?"
"Yep. Why do you think we can hear Binny howl through the house when she's out there?" Then I switch back. "I still can't think of the word, and it's driving me nuts!"
"Did you ask Binny?" Jeremy queries.
"Yep. She wasn't any help either. Then I had her do the Safety Dance. I don't think she appreciated it."
"Inundated?" Jeremy asks?
"No, that's when you're overwhelmed with stuff to do."
"Inebriated? Intoxicated? Indebted?" Now he's just throwing out words that start with an i. This is no help at all. "I think I'm done with this conversation," he says. Really? I would never have guessed.
The next morning, we're sitting there having coffee, and it finally pops into my head.
"Ambitious!" I exclaim.
"What?"
"That's the word--ambitious!"
"That's like the simplest word to come up with. And that does not even fit the definition you were giving last night," he says.
"Yes it does," I protest.
"It does not. You were saying someone with a lot to do--what you're talking about is more like aggressive."
"Well, maybe the definition didn't come out quite right, but that's definitely fits the definition I had in my head."
Giving me the response I've grown quite accustomed to at this point, he looks at me, sighs, and says, "Imagine that."
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Projects
I have this bad habit--A neverending and always growing list of projects that I never seem to complete. I often spend a ton of time researching these projects, then never even start them. To Jeremy's dismay, my latest project has been landscaping. I discovered sites online where I could buy plant and flower seeds and bulbs very cheaply. So, after several days of researching all these different plants and finding the most inexpensive places to order them, we have now been inundated with seed shipments (the bulbs will come later when it's warmer). I then organized them all, putting together a table that lists the plant names with a picture, how tall they get, when they flower, what color they flower and what type of sun they need, grouping them by where I think they should be planted. This took another afternoon. I also discovered I have roughly 10 packets of seeds that I have no idea what to do with. Now comes the hard part. At some point, I am actually going to have to start these seeds, take care of them, go out and create the flower beds, transplant the plants into them and weed all the beds.
Jeremy seems very skeptical that I will actually accomplish all of this. I have no idea why he's so skeptical. Maybe it's the Vacation Scrapbook project (all "paper souvenirs" all still nicely tucked into a large ziplock bag and I still haven't had prints made of the pictures). Maybe it's the wallpaper border project (see previous blog). Possibly, it's the organizing his shop project (that one I'm still developing in my head, and I haven't acquired the necessary supplies, so that's not really my fault). Maybe it's the stained glass project--I did do all the research for how to do that, but the equipment seemed a bit expensive, and it looked a little complicated. For now, the landscaping project is quite organized. The problem's going to come when I actually plant all the plants and then have to do something with them. That's where things start to get complicated. It's not like I can simply stash the project away like the others. This time I really have to finish the project. I'm pretty sure I can actually do this one though (well, creating the beds and weeding is going to suck a little. . .).
Fortunately, he's always very supportive when I come up with project ideas. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because he knows they'll keep me occupied for a while, yet not really cost him any money (see stained glass "research" above). I think half of it is just my love of researching things and organizing them. I excel at both, but then when it comes to actual implementation--which is usually where you start buying things for the project-- most of the time I sort of lose interest. That could be why he's so supportive of my latest project idea. By rough count, I believe our house has 33 windows, almost all of which are huge. That's an awful lot of expense if we have to buy curtains for all of them, plus, what kinds of curtains would best showcase the woodwork around them? So, I decided that I should check into actually making the curtains myself. I spent about two days researching curtain types, fabric types, sewing machines. . . I decided that Balloon curtains (or shades) would be the best type. They're somewhat ornate, plus, they hang down the window and wouldn't cover up the woodwork around it (not that you probably really wanted to know that info). I even found a site online where, for $10, I could order a pattern/instruction book for creating 10 different kinds of these curtains/shades.
Now comes the hard part. I have never really sewed anything in my life. When I was forced to take home ec my freshman year of high school, I made one item on my own--a pair of shorts. Nobody told me you had to do something called backstitching, so you can imagine my dismay when I first wore my pair of shorts. After that "fiasco," I just did the minimum sewing in class on the projects we had to do, then took them home to my mom, who got me As on a skirt and a cardigan. I still have the tiny sewing kit I purchased for freshman home ec to this day. It has a itty bitty pair of scissors, several tiny spools of thread, and several needles and pins. The only reason I've saved it all these years, and the only thing it has been used for all these years, is so I have a needle to remove the occasional sliver.
I'm sure a ton of things ran through Jeremy's head when I told him I thought I should make the curtains for our house (all 33 of them) and showed him the intricate shades I had picked. I can somewhat imagine his thought process: "What the hell is she thinking? She can't sew anything. How is she going to start sewing, out of the blue, and create these complicated shades? What will they end up looking like? Am I going to be stuck hanging them in our house? Wait, she's only on the researching and organizing phase of the project. That means she'll quit when it comes to buying equipment (like the fact we don't even own a sewing machine). I'm safe!" So what actually came out when I mentioned this idea was: "That sounds like a good idea."
But, I've actually moved a bit beyond my initial research and organization phase for this project. Last week, in our local shopper, I saw two sewing machines for sale. They didn't list prices, but I figure they have to be relatively inexpensive. I'm going to wait and see if they're still in this week's shopper, then call about them. That means I'm almost to the project phase I never get to--purchasing equipment! I figure, if I can get a cheap sewing machine, I can at least try and see if I can make something. I even planned it out--buy cheap, discount fabric, then practice making a few sets with that. The problem is probably going to come when (and if) I actually get the sewing machine and then realize I suck at sewing, which is a strong likelihood with me. I don't think Jeremy realizes I've moved on to this phase in my project yet, otherwise he'd probably get that look on his face--the baffled/consternation look he often gets when I mention some idea I have that's completely absurd. So, I think I'll just wait a bit before I tell him I'm getting a sewing machine (if I get one--I'm still in the sewing machine research phase). That way, he can quickly work through his thoughts: "Crap, she's actually buying a sewing machine. How long am I going to have to listen to her swear at it? How long will she actually try to learn how to sew? Can she actually make curtains? Am I going to be stuck hanging these things? She's going to know I'm lying when I tell her they look 'nice.' What are we going to do with the sewing machine when she quits using it?" And what will come out is: "That sounds like a good idea."
Jeremy seems very skeptical that I will actually accomplish all of this. I have no idea why he's so skeptical. Maybe it's the Vacation Scrapbook project (all "paper souvenirs" all still nicely tucked into a large ziplock bag and I still haven't had prints made of the pictures). Maybe it's the wallpaper border project (see previous blog). Possibly, it's the organizing his shop project (that one I'm still developing in my head, and I haven't acquired the necessary supplies, so that's not really my fault). Maybe it's the stained glass project--I did do all the research for how to do that, but the equipment seemed a bit expensive, and it looked a little complicated. For now, the landscaping project is quite organized. The problem's going to come when I actually plant all the plants and then have to do something with them. That's where things start to get complicated. It's not like I can simply stash the project away like the others. This time I really have to finish the project. I'm pretty sure I can actually do this one though (well, creating the beds and weeding is going to suck a little. . .).
Fortunately, he's always very supportive when I come up with project ideas. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's because he knows they'll keep me occupied for a while, yet not really cost him any money (see stained glass "research" above). I think half of it is just my love of researching things and organizing them. I excel at both, but then when it comes to actual implementation--which is usually where you start buying things for the project-- most of the time I sort of lose interest. That could be why he's so supportive of my latest project idea. By rough count, I believe our house has 33 windows, almost all of which are huge. That's an awful lot of expense if we have to buy curtains for all of them, plus, what kinds of curtains would best showcase the woodwork around them? So, I decided that I should check into actually making the curtains myself. I spent about two days researching curtain types, fabric types, sewing machines. . . I decided that Balloon curtains (or shades) would be the best type. They're somewhat ornate, plus, they hang down the window and wouldn't cover up the woodwork around it (not that you probably really wanted to know that info). I even found a site online where, for $10, I could order a pattern/instruction book for creating 10 different kinds of these curtains/shades.
Now comes the hard part. I have never really sewed anything in my life. When I was forced to take home ec my freshman year of high school, I made one item on my own--a pair of shorts. Nobody told me you had to do something called backstitching, so you can imagine my dismay when I first wore my pair of shorts. After that "fiasco," I just did the minimum sewing in class on the projects we had to do, then took them home to my mom, who got me As on a skirt and a cardigan. I still have the tiny sewing kit I purchased for freshman home ec to this day. It has a itty bitty pair of scissors, several tiny spools of thread, and several needles and pins. The only reason I've saved it all these years, and the only thing it has been used for all these years, is so I have a needle to remove the occasional sliver.
I'm sure a ton of things ran through Jeremy's head when I told him I thought I should make the curtains for our house (all 33 of them) and showed him the intricate shades I had picked. I can somewhat imagine his thought process: "What the hell is she thinking? She can't sew anything. How is she going to start sewing, out of the blue, and create these complicated shades? What will they end up looking like? Am I going to be stuck hanging them in our house? Wait, she's only on the researching and organizing phase of the project. That means she'll quit when it comes to buying equipment (like the fact we don't even own a sewing machine). I'm safe!" So what actually came out when I mentioned this idea was: "That sounds like a good idea."
But, I've actually moved a bit beyond my initial research and organization phase for this project. Last week, in our local shopper, I saw two sewing machines for sale. They didn't list prices, but I figure they have to be relatively inexpensive. I'm going to wait and see if they're still in this week's shopper, then call about them. That means I'm almost to the project phase I never get to--purchasing equipment! I figure, if I can get a cheap sewing machine, I can at least try and see if I can make something. I even planned it out--buy cheap, discount fabric, then practice making a few sets with that. The problem is probably going to come when (and if) I actually get the sewing machine and then realize I suck at sewing, which is a strong likelihood with me. I don't think Jeremy realizes I've moved on to this phase in my project yet, otherwise he'd probably get that look on his face--the baffled/consternation look he often gets when I mention some idea I have that's completely absurd. So, I think I'll just wait a bit before I tell him I'm getting a sewing machine (if I get one--I'm still in the sewing machine research phase). That way, he can quickly work through his thoughts: "Crap, she's actually buying a sewing machine. How long am I going to have to listen to her swear at it? How long will she actually try to learn how to sew? Can she actually make curtains? Am I going to be stuck hanging these things? She's going to know I'm lying when I tell her they look 'nice.' What are we going to do with the sewing machine when she quits using it?" And what will come out is: "That sounds like a good idea."
Sunday, January 11, 2009
This Old House: Episode 1
The other night Jeremy suddenly goes, "My God, that just scared the hell out of me! That tapping noise scares me every time. When are you going to do something about that?" The tapping noise he was referring to was the two strips, the outer, vinyl layer, of the ugly wallpaper border hanging a good three feet down the wall. This hanging border wouldn't be so bad except it'd been hanging down like that a good two (okay, maybe three) months, and the slightest breeze in the air makes it tap spookily against the wall. It wasn't that I intended for it to be like that so long; it's just I got really busy after I started the project with work and school (and pretty much anything but removing the wallpaper border). It really wouldn't be so bad, except for a several factors: 1) The boarder is at the top of the 12 foot wall, and I'm slightly scared of heights 2) I have virtually no coordination; therefore, I'm also slightly scared of ladders and 3) The thing has become cemented to the wall, so there is no easy and quick way, while 12 feet in the air, to get the thing off.
So today I finally worked up the nerve to tackle the project again. After three more hours of work, I had beaten the ceiling fan off kilter, cracked the glass in the transom above the kitchen door, finally managed to get myself off the refrigerator, and only managed to remove, roughly, another 10 feet of wallpaper border. The first problem was me, with my lack of coordination, trying to move a 10 foot ladder around the kitchen by myself. The next thing I know, I hear this loud thunk noise and little bits of ceiling fan dust bunnies are floating all around me. Yep, I'd moved the ladder right into the fan. So I readjust and try to move the ladder again. Thunk. Move. Thunk. This must have gone on, intermittently, for about five minutes. While I did finally get the ladder in place, the ceiling fan now has a new swaying, wobbling pattern to it's movements. I tried to reassure Jeremy that this was just normal ceiling fan behavior when he came in, but he just looked at me and shook his head.
I finally get the border removed from above the doorway, but then I'm in trouble. The next section is not only above the kitchen cupboards, but also above the refrigerator. Sighing, I realize I have no choice but to climb on top of the fridge if I want to reach it. So up I go. This upward movement was no problem at all, and within about an hour or so, I had removed another lovely 3 foot section. The problem came when it was time for me to climb down. Climbing down things has always been scarier than climbing up (yes, one time Jeremy talked me into rock climbing a very "small" [as he put it] rock. I think it took him and his friend about half an hour to talk me back down the rock). I look down, and suddenly my ladder seems much farther away then it should be, and I have no idea how I managed to get on top of the refrigerator from that distance. So I crouch on top of the refrigerator weighing my options. I don't think I can reach the ladder. I can't climb down onto the counter because the microwave is in the way. My brain is reeling. Not that I'd be embarrassed (it takes a lot anymore for that to happen), but I really don't want to be stuck on top of the refrigerator until Jeremy comes inside. He's working on his own project outside, so who knows how long that could be! I must have sat up there contemplating my situation for a good 10 minutes (well, it was more contemplating things like, what if I have to pee while I'm stuck up here. . .). Finally, I realized that I could hang onto the cupboard with one hand, and then reach as far forward as I could. Doing this, I just barely managed to snag the ladder and inch it close enough so that I could finally climb down. Freedom!
So, I go about my merry wallpaper removing way for another hour. By this time, I've hit the corner. Since the cupboards are in the way, there is absolutely no way I can turn the ladder and get close enough to the wall. Seemed like an excellent reason to quit for the day to me. Now, the next problem comes. I need to get the ladder folded up and out of the kitchen. Wrestling with it, I manage, after about five minutes, to fold it up, somehow managing not to bean myself in the head or have it topple over on me, which I think is quite a feat! I now start carrying it to the door, very carefully avoiding the ceiling fan. In fact, I'm so proud of myself, when CRACK! I walked the ladder right into the glass transom above the door. The glass doesn't fall out (still hasn't, thank goodness), but it spider cracks in like 5 different directions. Of course, I'm near tears. For one, this is really old glass, for two, the wallpaper border has fried what little patience I have left, and for three, if the glass falls out, there's nothing to hold the heat in the kitchen anymore.
Immediately, I'm off and running outside to find Jeremy, who calmly reassures me. As I'm headed back inside, I hear Deb come around. Deb is a woman who is excellent at construction work and helps Jeremy with jobs I can't (that's pretty much all construction work. I'm not saying I couldn't help, but for both our sanity and the sake of more rapid progress, it's better that I don't). She asks Jeremy what happened, I hear Jeremy explaining, then I hear Deb say "Bless her heart." Yep, I've become a "bless her heart" case. It's the southern way of lightening an insult. Here in the south, if someone says bless her/his heart, this is usually followed with some sign of the person's ineptness or stupidity, like "Bless her heart, but she can't even figure out how to make Kool-Aid." Then I hear Jeremy telling her, "Yeah, but she hasn't mentioned how many times she knocked the ladder into the ceiling fan." Hmmmm. How'd he know?
So today I finally worked up the nerve to tackle the project again. After three more hours of work, I had beaten the ceiling fan off kilter, cracked the glass in the transom above the kitchen door, finally managed to get myself off the refrigerator, and only managed to remove, roughly, another 10 feet of wallpaper border. The first problem was me, with my lack of coordination, trying to move a 10 foot ladder around the kitchen by myself. The next thing I know, I hear this loud thunk noise and little bits of ceiling fan dust bunnies are floating all around me. Yep, I'd moved the ladder right into the fan. So I readjust and try to move the ladder again. Thunk. Move. Thunk. This must have gone on, intermittently, for about five minutes. While I did finally get the ladder in place, the ceiling fan now has a new swaying, wobbling pattern to it's movements. I tried to reassure Jeremy that this was just normal ceiling fan behavior when he came in, but he just looked at me and shook his head.
I finally get the border removed from above the doorway, but then I'm in trouble. The next section is not only above the kitchen cupboards, but also above the refrigerator. Sighing, I realize I have no choice but to climb on top of the fridge if I want to reach it. So up I go. This upward movement was no problem at all, and within about an hour or so, I had removed another lovely 3 foot section. The problem came when it was time for me to climb down. Climbing down things has always been scarier than climbing up (yes, one time Jeremy talked me into rock climbing a very "small" [as he put it] rock. I think it took him and his friend about half an hour to talk me back down the rock). I look down, and suddenly my ladder seems much farther away then it should be, and I have no idea how I managed to get on top of the refrigerator from that distance. So I crouch on top of the refrigerator weighing my options. I don't think I can reach the ladder. I can't climb down onto the counter because the microwave is in the way. My brain is reeling. Not that I'd be embarrassed (it takes a lot anymore for that to happen), but I really don't want to be stuck on top of the refrigerator until Jeremy comes inside. He's working on his own project outside, so who knows how long that could be! I must have sat up there contemplating my situation for a good 10 minutes (well, it was more contemplating things like, what if I have to pee while I'm stuck up here. . .). Finally, I realized that I could hang onto the cupboard with one hand, and then reach as far forward as I could. Doing this, I just barely managed to snag the ladder and inch it close enough so that I could finally climb down. Freedom!
So, I go about my merry wallpaper removing way for another hour. By this time, I've hit the corner. Since the cupboards are in the way, there is absolutely no way I can turn the ladder and get close enough to the wall. Seemed like an excellent reason to quit for the day to me. Now, the next problem comes. I need to get the ladder folded up and out of the kitchen. Wrestling with it, I manage, after about five minutes, to fold it up, somehow managing not to bean myself in the head or have it topple over on me, which I think is quite a feat! I now start carrying it to the door, very carefully avoiding the ceiling fan. In fact, I'm so proud of myself, when CRACK! I walked the ladder right into the glass transom above the door. The glass doesn't fall out (still hasn't, thank goodness), but it spider cracks in like 5 different directions. Of course, I'm near tears. For one, this is really old glass, for two, the wallpaper border has fried what little patience I have left, and for three, if the glass falls out, there's nothing to hold the heat in the kitchen anymore.
Immediately, I'm off and running outside to find Jeremy, who calmly reassures me. As I'm headed back inside, I hear Deb come around. Deb is a woman who is excellent at construction work and helps Jeremy with jobs I can't (that's pretty much all construction work. I'm not saying I couldn't help, but for both our sanity and the sake of more rapid progress, it's better that I don't). She asks Jeremy what happened, I hear Jeremy explaining, then I hear Deb say "Bless her heart." Yep, I've become a "bless her heart" case. It's the southern way of lightening an insult. Here in the south, if someone says bless her/his heart, this is usually followed with some sign of the person's ineptness or stupidity, like "Bless her heart, but she can't even figure out how to make Kool-Aid." Then I hear Jeremy telling her, "Yeah, but she hasn't mentioned how many times she knocked the ladder into the ceiling fan." Hmmmm. How'd he know?
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