Sunday, December 29, 2013

Heads Up


It wasn't the merriest of Christmases at the Chez Bang Bang, but it wasn't the worst, either. So that's a win. 

The holidays can be hard. Harder still when I put a lot of pressures on  myself to create an unrealistic environment during long days at Tiny Town.

It just didn't happen the way I had visioned it in my mind. In my mind, I was hanging twinkling lights outside and garland and lights throughout the house and baking up dozens of Christmas cookies. 

The reality was, we quickly put up a Target tree, threw on some unbreakable "cat toys", put up a second small tree (the one I used to have at the old yucky house) in the kitchen, and of course my Christmas Village that finally came out of storage. Not one Christmas cookie was baked. Presents were haphazardly purchased and wrapped. The house remained quite a mess during the whole month of December, with packages and wrappings and glitter falling everywhere. 

But I did up up the Santa Head posted above. I've had that Santa Head since my I think my FIRST marriage, so we're talking 20 - 23 years ago. He's looking pretty good, right? Because I'm a great storage packer. After eight years in storage, he finally got to hang his head high on the new front door. It made me happy.

Hm, so in retrospect, after reading all the decorating I did do, I need to say, "Good job, Me!" instead of thinking about all the stuff I didn't accomplish.

I didn't get any Christmas cards out this year, either, so if you didn't get one from me, you were not singled out - no one did. 

My brother told me that I just need to lower my expectations of what I can reasonably achieve while working at Tiny Town. I think he is right.

It didn't help Christmas matters that we went on vacation right after Thanksgiving, which was a much-needed break, but also put me weeks behind in my holidaying. 

But guess what? Even without being perfectly prepared, Christmas came anyway, and presents got handed out and it was all fine.

And about that Christmas Village - the cats have not broken one piece of it. That was their Christmas gift to me.  

So sometimes what you don't get is even more important than what you do get.  

Hope you had a nice holiday, Reader, and are looking forward to a brand spanking New Year. 

Monday, December 16, 2013

Match Game

Big news, Reader! I've joined Or something like that, I thought it was, but I think now it's called 

Yes, I know what you're thinking. What happened to My Mister?! 

He's still in the picture. We decided to try out being Swingers for 2014. Everyone's gotta have a goal. 

Not really.

Really, what happened is this: our mutual friend has found himself at a table for one, and is dipping in toes in the dating pool. He was so eager to talk about this whole crazy personality test that is now administered by, that I was too intrigued not to try it. And by trying it, you have to make a free account.

I don't think the personality test really captured my essence, but then I did have a lot of trouble answering the questions and kept asking My Mister to tell me what he thought the best answers were to describe me, which is a whole other problem - that I don't even know myself. 

So maybe it was skewed in some weird direction. It says I am a "Negotiator" with a secondary trait of "Builder." I think more fitting descriptors would be "Bossy" with a secondary trait of "Shouty."

Now since I have an online profile, I can't wait to see who I'm matched up with. Not that I have any interest - except for one guy who was decent looking and indicated his salary range was in the $150-$200k range, and My Mister and I both want to date him as a package deal. 

I just want to see who's out there, ya know, who's swimming around in my potential pool.

I want My Mister to take the test and sign up, so we could see who attracts the most viable candidates, but he hasn't so far. He told me to just do it for him. which I think would get him negative points somehow. 

Today I was super excited because I had two emails, and a few winks. And then I clicked on their photos and read their profiles and I was much less thrilled by who I attracted. Not judging a book by his cover, but ya gotta work with me a little bit here, Dating Site. A lady ~ ahem ~ has her standards.

Some guys were dismissed because I have no doubt that, "he can do better than me." I mean, really, sometimes ya just know. 

And if there is any of these key words in their profile, I know we will not be a Match. 

*punctuality is important
*seeks an even-tempered woman
*no drama
*enjoys working out and keeping physically fit
*loves camping
*organized and tidy

And any Conservatives who enjoy "lively" political debates. I hide that nonsense on Facebook for a reason, I don't need to date it. 

Probably the most fun part about it was writing a profile about myself because it just doesn't matter. 
"must love t.v* is one of my criteria.  Because Honey Boo Boo ain't gonna watch itself.

Saturday, December 14, 2013

I'll Never Be a Pin-spiration. To Anyone.

Well, it's finally happened, Reader. I've done plumb lost my mind. 

This whole 'Christmas in the New House" has caused me to do something I'm certain to regret. And I knew it was a bad idea when I was doing it, but I did it anyway. Like I said, done plumb lost my mind. 

Back in my olden life, I used to like to decorate my house for the holidays, make it festive and cozy. But then once I moved, I didn't have the space to do any sort of decoration, nothing more than putting up a tree on an end table to make it look like a large tree in the window. It's a good trick, really. All the look, none of the fuss. 

One of the things I was most excited about doing in the new house was re-building my Christmas village, which I bought in 2003, and only had 2 years to enjoy it before I was a homeless single woman. I don't even know if I put it up in 2004, so it may have only been up for 1 year. 

While we lived in our old house, I stored it in the garage. The same garage that was inhabited by squirrels, because there was a missing brick in the wall, and My Mister generously wanted to provide a little shelter rather than block the hole. 

Until he discovered they chewed through and peed/pooped on everything. Including the box of my Christmas Village. 

But we moved it anyway, and I was delighted to discover this evening that:

#1 - Eight years ago, I did a bang-up job packing that thing away.  I put all gajillion pieces back were they belonged and secured it all with tape

#2 - Nothing was ruined on the inside. 

I was a little grossed out at opening the box, however, and all the cats went on a wild scratching frenzy of the box until I was able to gather it up and pitch it in the trash.   

We had to sanitize a lot of stuff - floor, hands, cats. 

So the village was saved. And I decided to put it up.  I had thought it would be pretty on the mantel, but that just wasn't going to work - it's quite a busy village with a lot of shops and people, so I had to put it on the sofa table. 

This is the moment where My Mister started laughing and laughing. Not with me, Reader. At me. 

A trillion little breakable pieces. 

Within paw's reach.  

Five cats + Two paws each = Equals a whole lot of trouble. 


I was the first one to break off a piece of one of the houses.  

Of course I was. 

And then I struggled with placement of each of the buildings, and how to make 'em all fit. I first had them on a white tablecloth, to be the "snow", with the lights glowing underneath it which was good in theory, but it created really bunchy fabric and nothing would stay upright with confidence, and it was slippery. 

It just felt like a 3:00 a.m. disaster in the making. 

So I rebooted and took that off. Then I had to get off all the tape that I had underneath it to keep in in place, and then move all the buildings around yet again, and in the process I pulled the greenhouse off the flower shop and dropped it under the table and my back is too stiff from old age to get all the way down there to get it, so I had to get a broom and sweep it out towards me and it was just a lot of trouble is what I'm saying. 

Tomorrow I'm going to go and buy some of that fake snow fluff and roll that around the village landscape, instead of the tablecloth, and hope that works a little better. In the meantime, it is sort of up, complete with a handi-capable man waving from the bridge sans hand, because oh yeah, someone broke that, too (back in 2003). 

So while I'm busy blaming and worrying about the cats wrecking the village, I should really be more concerned with Godzilla Me terrorizing Tokyo. 

It took me so long and so many repositioning attempts,  I realized that I would never make it as a city planner. So that's one career we can scratch off my list. 

With this project half-assedly done, I decide to decorate the mantle, and just let me go on the record as stating that I will never win a Pintrest award for creativity or aptitude. 

I had some lights up there, and some plastic holly, and it just looked so jankety that after about a half hour of effort, it all came down and went in the trash, because plastic holly from at least eight years ago is brittle and dumb looking. 

The take-away from that little revelation is that it took me a half an hour to deem it unsuitable. Not five or ten minutes to realize it's crap. A full thirty minutes (or more).  

I may get an award for persistence, if nothing else. 

So that was the evening. Now the house is a total mess and I'm so tired from chasing ornaments (decorated the tree, too, or I should restate - I added cat toys to their favorite new thing in the house), and now I wish I would have had a few kids fifteen or so years ago and I'd have them hauling and cleaning for me. Really, I just need a wife. 

My wife's first job would be cleaning up the broken Christmas village at 3:00 a.m. this morning, when the cats will probably decide the village is lacking a cat.  Because, really, do any of us have any notions that the village is going to make it?? I'm ready for the crash. 

Thursday, December 12, 2013

Heat Miser

It seems I took an unplanned hiatus, which is a whole lot better than an unplanned pregnancy.   I didn't realize my last post about rape-y lions live so long in the top spot. 

Nine whole days of life was spent in Florida and the Caribbean. Yep, we managed to sneak in a much-needed nod to my old ways, before I completely forgot how to vacation. 

I was able to get right back in the swing of it. 

In other news, being gone right after Thanksgiving, on top of the fact that we had a late holiday, with only four weeks til Christmas, has put us quite a bit behind on Festivus Activities. 

I need to do a little shopping. Er, a lot of shopping. I have like one thing bought for one person. 

I have to find the presents I bought for my dad and his Lady last year, that I never got mailed to them in time. If I wait about two more days, it'll be too late again this year. 

We didn't manage to get the garage cleaned out in time to beat Old Man Winter at his snowy game, so we're still stuck in our old ways of scrapping snow off of cars. But I'm hoping to find some time this weekend to do a little more to remedy that situation. 

We did manage to purchase a Christmas tree and put it up last night ~ raises Victory arms and high-fives self~.  

It's not decorated yet. I figured I'd wait a day or two and see if the cats knock it over. So far they are only mildly interested. 

We had been struggling this winter to figure out how to program our thermostat. It's very fancy, which translates to complicated. We had to download a brochure. Er, My Mister did, not a true 'we".  It was programmed to set at 62 degrees, going up to 66 in the morning before I had to get up of work  The rest of the times we'd turn on the fireplace to knock the chill off the room in the evening. 

That was fine for Oct/Nov. Once snow started blowing up our snatches over here, 62 was just way too cold.  And then I fucked around with the programming and did something which added some function of plus -or - minus 2 degrees to it, so it was hovering around 60 degrees. 

My grandmother would have been very proud of us. 

In the meantime, I'm not quite ready to wrap myself up in a babushka at night, and the bill hasn't creeped up too high (yet), so we're living on the wild side, and have it programmed at 64 in the evening, and all the way up to a toasty 70 when I have to get up in the morning. I think it still goes down to 62 at 11:00 p.m. Something happens. 

So that's the story of our thermostat. 

You're welcome. 

Thursday, November 21, 2013

This Is What You Get When I'm Tired.

Reader, this right here is how much I care about you. This post. Because there are pee-lenty of things I  need to be doing around here tonight (laundry and cleaning and putting away), as I have company coming tomorrow before I even get home from work, but these thoughts need to be shared. With you, Reader. Because you're impotent. Er. Important.

And you need to clutter up your mind with the shit that rambles around in my mind. If for no other reason so you can feel better about yourself, that you have better/more impotent shit rambling around in your mind. Or important shit, as the case may be.

I've been putting in some loooong hours at Tiny Town, as it's ramping up for the holiday selling season and by gosh, they are going to work the shit out of us so we can't enjoy any of the holiday spirit. I got home last night late - i'm talking 11:00, after running a couple little errands after work - and needed to unwind in bed with some yogurt, which I must sidebar about right now.

This yogurt from Target is

I'm not a yogurt person, really. I try to get into it and be all trendy, jumping on the whole all-the-cool-kids-are-eating-Greek-yogurt fad, but I'm much more of the Jamie Lee Curtis yogurt type, you know - the kind who eats it because it's good for my intestines, and not so much because I really enjoy it. 

But last night, while on one of my errands, I needed dinner and I was standing next to this Noosa yogurt as I had just purchased milk, and so I threw it in my cart. Apparently that's how I make decisions when I'm tired, I just take whatever is nearest to me and shove it in my mouth. That's probably how I ended up with a couple of husbands. I was tired. 

Man, this is going off in all sorts of directions. I can't stop this train from jumping the track, I'm tired again and seem to be on a rambler. 

Back to the yogurt. It's so damn good, and it has some inspirational messaging around the lid, about how it's made from happy cows that get to roam around a farm in Colorado, and it's a super secret recipe from a grandma and I liked everything about that story, so they had me at hello, even before I put it in my mouth, which was a very good time once we entered that phase of our relationship.

Try it. You might like it. And we can be the cool kids starting a whole new yogurt fad. Unless this already was a fad, and I'm just late to the party. Hm. 

But Back to the Original Story:

So I was tired, and heading to bed with my very happy mouth that just consumed that yogurt, and I needed to watch a little telly to unwind. My go-to show of choice was a DVR'd episode of Honey Boo Boo (stop judging me, Reader, I know, I know...) and then I was all caught up and still needed more telly in my night so I turned on an animal show. 

About lions. 

Lions in the wild. 

Hungry lions, who were on the brink of starvation. 

Well, none of that is good relaxing t.v. right before bed. Someone's gonna die in that scenario, always. Usually several things, and it's usually rather gruesome, and you end up rooting for the lion to live, but then that means something else is going to be his dinner, and then you don't know who to root for and it's very conflicted and really not a good way to end the evening.

But I was into and bound to see it through. And they did their typical lion shit, posturing against the neighboring pride, who were encroaching on their territory because this particular starving pride learned how to take down and eat and elephant, which isn't even part of it's natural food source.

It was gross, by the way, and the worst part of it is, they aren't meant to eat elephants, and could only take down the baby elephants, which made it even worse, and then even worse than that is, they couldn't puncture the elephant's thick skin, so they weren't able to kill it before they started to eat it, and it was just all sorts of hell breaking loose on that poor baby elephant. 

And the rival pride was watching all this go on and wanted in on the action. So of course there was a lot of chasing and authority-asserting and the absolute worst part ended up NOT being watching them eat a baby elephant alive, but what the elephant-eating lions did to the rival lions. 

The big dominant male lion ripped the balls right off the rival lion. It was an intentional Take That. 

And even worse than the male getting his balls ripped off?

The other dominant male lion went over and lion-raped one of the lionesses of the rival tribe. 

I mean, it's instinct was to just rape the fuck out of that lion, to show her who was the boss. 

I was so mad at those rape-y lions, I hoped they'd choke on a baby elephant, and then I wanted to spank DJ just for being part of that species. 

I didn't spank him, but I gave him a firm talking to and told him that he had better not even think of trying to rape anyone in this house. Me, Kitty Purry, and Girl Cat will not stand for it. 

I was very disheartened all day thinking about those poor lions, one now ball-less and the lioness all violated right up in her lion twat. 

It was a sad story. And lions suck. Just ask the baby elephants.

Sunday, November 17, 2013


I had my cake for one whole day before the asshole cats had a fight right in my cake and smashed it.

I've eaten it anyway. 

Before you judge, it was only the box that was smashed all in the cake, it's not like I had to eat around fur and asshole imprints.  

Because that would be wrong and even I won't eat a cake that has an asshole imprint on it. 

One time, many birfdays ago, I was so drunk I stepped in my cake, which was hidden on a stairway for a later surprise. It surprised me alright, as I stumbled my way up the steps to pass out in bed.  At like, 6:00 p.m. in the evening. Now, let me just go on the record as stating why I was so drunk on that particular birfday. I feel it begs an explanation. I was visiting ex-in-laws in Texas, all they did was drink from sunup to sundown, and every time eating was discussed, it got pushed aside while we made another cocktail. 

The next morning we pulled out the footprint cake, loaded 'er up with candles, sang Hippo Birdie to Me and ate around the footprint.

That was also the time I got a banana stuck up my hoo-ha, and needed kitchen tongs to pull it out. Yes, tongs from their kitchen, but since not much cooking went on around there, no harm came to or from the tongs. But that's a story for another blog. Or actually, I guess that's the entire story. And I'm sorry for that right there, because now you know it and you can't unknow it. 

Happy Birfday, Me. 

Friday, November 15, 2013


And so it begins:

Plus a beautiful flower arrangement from my Pappy, and his Lady, which I'll post a photo of tomorrow, because it's too pretty not to share, but I have it locked up in the bathroom at the moment because the cats are hellbent on eating it. 

I think they just knocked my cake off the counter, I heard a box hit the floor.  Sonnofabitches.

Saturday, November 9, 2013

Chainsaws & Toasters

Homeownership comes with a lot of responsibility. Responsibility I'm not certain that My Mister and I are equipped to handle. 

Today was a beautiful early November day, with the sunlight hitting all the right angles and just lighting up the outdoor show.  Driving down my street, I was treated Fall in all it's glory, and I was so happy that I get to live here. 

It was so nice out, I enticed My Mister to head down to the Ravine, so we could pretend we had gone to the park, but really we were only in our backyard. Plus, I wanted to get the leaves off the wooden steps so they don't rot the wood, because while I'm no expert, I think that leaves on wood are a bad thing, unless it's wood you want to compost.  

I don't want to compost my steps. 

We have a little Homeowner Challenge at the moment. One of the trees in the ravine, which has been uprooted for some time now: 

Must have shifted with the high winds we've had, and now has really big limbs hanging onto the path of my steps.  And really darn close to my house.

It's actually not precariously close to the house, as the photo may imply, but it's close enough that some limbs need to be lumberjacked off. 

I've called three tree service people. They all promise to get back to me, and then it's crickets.  Can't even get an estimate. I mean, I don't need the whole thing removed. Just the parts that are pokey-out-y over my steps and sort of close to the edge of my lawn. I'd like those ones to be removed.

So I guess we need to get a chainsaw. Or find a friend with a chainsaw.  

On an upnote, I went down to the ravine, and only got a little frightened when something moved under the leaves. And then I reminded myself that snakes could very easily be slithering under the leaves and so I poked in front of me with a stick before I walked.  A snake would have still scared the shit out of me, but not as much as stepping right on a snake would scare the shit out of me.

And that concludes my trip to the ravine for 2012.  Until we get a chainsaw. 

Remember that time when I posted pictures from all my fabulous vacations? Yeah. That's all gone now. I traded in beaches for power washers and chainsaws. Doesn't seem quite right somehow.

p.s. - the Title of the post? Well, when My Mister and I were on one of our cruises we stumbled upon a weird little casino with a slot machine called Chainsaws & Toasters. We didn't understand the subject matter correlation at the time, but now I sort of get it. 

p.p.s. - It was just pointed out to me that it's 2013, not 2012 as stated above. So. Yes, I'm officially losing my mind. Or at the very least I've blocked out a whole year. 

Tuesday, November 5, 2013

Great White

We officially Warmed the House this past Saturday, Reader.  The prep leading up to that warming was EX.Haust.ING. I'm talking "holy smokes how did I not lose 20 lbs with all that painting, cleaning, unpacking, hauling, and organizing", but I didn't - my fat likes me and refuses to leave without a fight. 

But the good news was, we got this house presentable and ready for company, just in time for company. I will tell you, I didn't do it alone. In fact, I wouldn't have been able to pull it off had one of my dearest hearts not come ridin' into town, like the Calvary, ready to save the day. And did she ever. I don't have enough time or words in my fingers to extol her virtues tonight, but hear me now and believe me later (that's a throwback phrase right there from my grandmother Sophie!), without Vera Wang riding into town and whipping this place into shape, we would have been in t.r.o.u.b.l.e. 

I'm too tired to write more at the moment, but a house recap is due to come soon. A little before and after, if you're a little bit voyeuristic and are curious about peeping into my windows. 

To tide you over, here's a sneak peek of our new couch. Which sort of looks like it belongs in a porno. And now it's in my living room.  


Saturday, October 26, 2013

Haunted Housework

Me, watching that stupid fucking scary show on tv, The Haunting: 

"Why do ghosts have to be so scary?? Why are they always so interested in scratching you, pulling your covers off in the the middle of the night and creating mayhem??  Why can't ghosts ever just come back and wash the dishes and clean the floor? Why is every ghost an asshole?" 

And that is the question I pose today: Other than Casper, where are the good ghosts who do a little cleaning and tidying up for you? 

That's the Haunting I'd be interested in watching. And then I'd light some candles and do some chants to get me a cleaning ghost. 

Friday, October 25, 2013

There & Here

I just returned from Providence, Reader. The view above was from my hotel room. It was pretty and it made me happy in the morning.

We worked our asses off in Providence. Long days, short nights. But it was productive, so yay.

I ate a lobster last night. Another yay. For me. Not so much for the lobster.

I also ate a lot of other seafood. If I were a middle-aged man, I'd have a serious case of the gout right about now. 

Lucky for me, I'm not a middle-aged man.

I was also in close proximity to a Crumbs bakery, but didn't get to enjoy even a crumb. That part was sort of sad.

My gym clothes went to Providence with me. They laughed and laughed at me as I was shoving them in the bag. They were right. They never saw the light of day. 

Saturday, October 19, 2013

How Silence Saves a Life.

Me: "I'm getting sick." 

My Mister: "You know what'll make you feel better??"

Me: "It better not have anything to do with your wiener, or I'm going to have to kill you."

My Mister: ~crickets~

Sunday, October 13, 2013

Washed The Spiders Out

Being a home owner is hard work, Reader, for the un-talented home owner.  Everything is just mean and  more complicated than it should be. 

Yesterday we unpacked and assembled the new Ryobi power washer so we could set to work de-spidering the spidery outdoors, as the outdoors they are selecting for squatting are really just to close to my indoors  - they have crafted webs all around my front door, garage door and patio doors. Not to mention my mail box, basketball hoop, assorted shrubbery and lamp post. 

So the plan was to power wash them right into the Ravine. Hey, I'm all for letting nature be. As long as they 'be' somewhere farther away from where I be. 

And they be BIG out here, by the way. There were several the size of grapefruits hanging around.  

We discovered that spiders webs are tough, Reader. I know, I know, they're super-strong, blah blah, but I figured the power of 1700 PSI of water in direct hits would knock the webs down. 

Yet one more naive moment for me. 

You see, those webs don't want to come down.  So we figured we'd have to use some detergent with the power washer instead of just plain water. 

My Mister ran to the hardware store for some Krud Kutter. Only the new power washer didn't come with the correct soap nozzle. So it was a wasted effort. 

We used a mop to knock down some of the webs. 

And then I sprayed the doorways with insect killer, because Fuck You, Spiders.

Saturday, October 12, 2013

Bangers & Fizzy Drinks

"ello, Loves! I've been in London and now have a proper English accent, complete with calling you Madame, as the situation warrants. 

It was a last-minute jaunt across the pond for work, where "work" equalled shopping for trends. AKA, Most Fun Work Ever. When I wasn't exhausted, that is. Because we did a lot of walking. A. Lot. 

I was most excited about the possibility of randomly bumping into Supernanny, as I've had a long-standing crush on Nanny Jo, with her pants that always seem to go up her crotch and the way she has with putting everyone in the naughty chair. 

I didn't bump into her, so I was sad. 

I did, however, bump into Crumbs Bakery in the Newark airport, thanks to my CupCake Watch Club Member, Joanne, who texted me the alert so I didn't miss out. 

That cupcake was the best time I've had in my mouth in a very long time.  It was such a party going on between my cheeks that I bought a half dozen on the way home. 

They are gone. 

That was three days ago.

You do the math. 

I'm going to Providence in two weeks, and have discovered they have a Crumbs there, too. 

I believe I will be rendezvousing with peanut butter and chocolate in my near future. 

In the meantime, all this travel has set me back a pace or two on the house getting-ready, so we've got to get a little more focused as we went out on a limb and invited a slew of people over in a few short weeks. If all else fails, I can order cupcakes and everyone will be in sugary bliss and not even notice the boxes they are sitting on that I creatively call "occasional seating." 

Sunday, September 29, 2013

What Goes Up, Must Come Down

Good Morning, Reader! Unless you're reading this at some other time, and then Good Afternoon or Good Evening. As you will.

Since we planned our housewarmer and invited folks over, there's no more fooling around at Chez Bang Bang. We have to Get Stuff Done, stat. 

So I started to get the upstairs bathroom ready to be cute-ed up, and oye, what a chore. It was just a simple border, Reader, pasted on around the top of the wall.

A horribly unattractive simple border, in some sort of dark colors & patterns, and it had to go as that does not fit with my design dreams for the Cape Cod. I'm going for a more cottage-y feel, not dark Aztec prints. 

So it had to go. 

And then I wanted to cry a little, as it did not peel off nicely, but rather came off in little triangular shards. 

It was holding onto that wall for dear life. 

"No problem," I told myself. "I'll just get one of those Tiger things that you use and it'll come right off." Tricked myself into thinking I just needed the right tools, and the job would be a cinch.

So I bought the Tiger scorer, the Paper scraper, the Dif soaking solution - all of it. And went to work on that border.

First, let me tell you, the Tiger isn't completely honest in it's claim, "WON'T DAMAGE WALLS." Because it harmed my wall in one area, when I accidentally ran it off of the paper. You could call that a user error, but really, they should account for the novice and claim, "MAY harm your walls if you're sort of an idiot-user who gets really aggressive making the circles and runs the tool off of the paper and onto your wall."     

This claim right here in the corner? It's a lie. 

That would have been nice to know, and I may have been more inclined to be a little more gentle. So now I have an area of my wall that looks like this. 

And then there's the claims of the Paper Scraper in bold, blue block letters "PREVENTS DAMAGE TO WALLS." 

Oh, you jokster, you. 

A simple little "May" in front of the "PREVENTS DAMAGE blah blah" may have provided a little bit of warning. Maybe. 

At least I wouldn't have been so surprised when parts of the wall chipped off.

Oh, Previous Homeowner, why ya gotta did me this way?  First the contact paper in the kitchen cabinets that eventually won the war and gets to continue to live there, and then this simple little border. 

It did make me reconcile to keeping the pale roses border in the basement bathroom. It can stay. It's a tonal white and pale colors, it's not worth the battle. 

The thing with home projects is, once you start - even the simplest little start - you're pretty much committed to completing the project in some manner. It's not like I could have stopped with the wallpaper border after the first initial rip and decided it's not that ugly after all. Nope. In for a penny, in for a pound.  Because believe you me, Reader, I thought of a lot of ways I could spin the half-torn-down wallpaper into a "this is our design vision" story, and I couldn't think of a way to pull it off. So I continued to pull it off. 

Once I finish removing the rest of the tacky residue, it's going to be painted a nice gentle color.  A color that somewhere down the line, in oh, say 20 or 30 years, when another new homeowner buys Chez Bang Bang, they say to each other, "What was she thinking with this hideous color?!" And I'll leave a little note on the wall with a "Hey, at least it's not wallpaper. You're welcome." 

Sunday, September 22, 2013

Weekend Roundup

Wrapping up the weekend, Reader. Just watched the 2nd to last episode of Breaking Bad. I'm too hopped up to just go to sleep, so I'll tell you a few snippets.

1/ We finally bit the bullet and scheduled our Housewarmer. We had hoped for September, that was a dream. We pushed to October, but realized that 6 weeks out might still be too soon, because hey, one whole weekend before has to be devoted to buying groceries. And yesterday we just bought some furniture so we look like Adults here, with some grown up stuff in the house, and that might not arrive for 4 weeks. So we picked a date and then we worked like hell on the basement today. Tossing, throwing, sorting and storing stuff. We might get there.

I may have a housewarming party where the joke's on everyone who shows up, and they're actually here to paint and put stuff away, otherwise known as Best. Party. Ever. For me, not necessarily for the guests. 

2/ My friendie stopped over Saturday night for an impromptu visit and we drank Ice Wine and said, "Oh, that's good!" and then we talked about a lot of stuff. I heart her, and am happy that I have an Entertaining House. It's nice to have company. Now we just need to figure out how to light the pilot for the gas fireplace, and I could really have a cozy home. 

3/ Thursday night I decided to scrub scrub scrub the upstairs bathroom, and get it ready to host guests who may come from out of town and spend the night. We had thought of keeping a litter box up in that bathroom, but the cats were assholes and were pooping outside of the boxes and onto the floor, so they lost their upstairs bathroom priviledges. 

Kitty Purry showed me just exactly what she thought of that decision and jumped on the bed Friday night and peed on me. For reals. One minute I was nodding off through some stupid Adam Sandler movie that My Mister was watching, the next minute I said, "I smell cat pee!" and the next minute I rolled over and my leg hit wet.  Sonofabitch. All the way down to the mattress pad, which is a good thing we have a mattress pad, I guess. So we put in another upstairs bathroom with a much bigger box that has deeper sides for the little assholes, and so far I haven't been peed on again. 

I felt the worst when I picked her up and looked her directly in the eye and told her she was a bad kitty and I didn't love her any more. 

I think she understood me, because she got a hurt look on her face. Later I told her I was sorry and of course I loved her, and we kissed and made up. 

So basically, you can take a piss on me, and I'll end up apologizing. Because I'm obviously not meeting your needs. 

Sunday, September 15, 2013

Recipe for Disaster

That old adage, Use It or Lose It, turns out to be true, Reader. My S.E.X. tricks aren't the only things that have gotten quite rusty.  Since we have a usable kitchen, and I've been actually using the kitchen, and cooking meals so we could eat at home just like Normal Folk, I've realized that my cooking skills are also in need of a major tune-up.

Eight years of a sucky kitchen, which encouraged us to just go out to eat and let other people do the cooking for us, has resulted in me not really being good at making meals anymore.

Last weekend I made some stew. First mistake was thinking that I could re-purpose leftover steaks into stew. Stew needs to be made with stew meat, and properly floured and browned and seasoned, to help the broth situation.

Steak stew, while it may sound like it could be a winner, really was not.

It wasn't helped by the fact that the broth was lame, so I added in some chipotle pepper paste, which made it not only NOT tasty, but burny as it went down.

And I also don't know how to cook for just two people. I think I'm cooking for an orphanage, because we had about 50 gallons of it, and it all had to be pitched out.

My Mister tried to muscle through it, and he gamely ate two bowls the first night. But considering it as leftovers for Monday night's dinner, enough was enough and we pitched it out. But not over the Ravine (I'm starving the Zombies out), we responsibly disposed of the burny steak stew.

It was a damn-shame waste of precious Yukon Gold potatoes.

And I could feel my grandmother turning over in her grave at the Waste.

That wasn't the only Kitchen Fail, sadly to say.

I was on my own for supper a couple of nights last week as My Mister had to work, and decided I'd have my old standby, eggs and toast. I love cooking simple suppers for myself. I would live on breakfast for dinner if I lived alone. Alone, I am so cheap and easy.

But anyway, I decided to get all fancy and fry up some of the Yukon Gold potatoes, to have a fried potato-and-egg dinner while I watched reruns of Big Bang Theory. I'm exciting like that. 

I used to make great fried potatoes. Crispy and brown.

These? I don't know exactly what went wrong, but they were limp and greasy. I want to lay the blame at the potato's feet - maybe Yukon Gold's are too fancy for hillbilly grease frying? - but maybe it is just something else that has lost it's mojo.

The latest not-quite-right kitchen experience was last night, when I made from-scratch guacamole.  I had a recipe to follow, the one really good thing I took out of my marriage - my ex-husband's mother's guac recipe.  I followed it! Sort of. I was about an avacado short, and could have maybe used an extra tomato, and added just a tich too much lemon juice.

We ate it - it didn't need to become Zombie Food - but we were very aware of the lemon juice. I will try this once again, though, because I do think I can perfect it. Maybe.

Today, I'm try-try-trying-again in the kitchen, making a chicken-n-dumplin's crockpot recipe. If this fails, that's it - no more trying out new things.  We will live on bad sex and fried eggs. 

My Mister has more at stake than he realizes with that crockpot full of chicken and carrots. 

Saturday, September 14, 2013

Yada'd Over the Bad Parts

This post is about S.E.X., Reader. So if you don't want to know some dirty details, stop now. Remember, once you know, you can't unknow.

Okay? Okay.

You've been given your parental warning.

The other night My Mister was rubbing lotion on my itchy back. Thanks to my good friend Vera, I learned that my itchy back was due to dry skin. I just thought it itched for no reason. Vera knows everything. After she left our house, she went and fixed another friend's leaky toilet. She can skin a buck and run a trout line, too, all without chipping one of her well-manicured nails. She's my hero. 

But because of her, My Mister now has the added job of keeping my back moist.

The other night he was rubbing the lotions on the skin, or else he gets the hose again...except while he was rubbing the lotions, he decided that I was just too enticing lying on the bed in my undiewears.

Because I'm so seductive.

And so we started making out, yada yada yada, and before too long, we both realized that I have become super bad in bed. 

I mean, really really bad. 

Let me just say, I could really benefit from some yoga. Or at a barest minimum, some considerate stretching.  And strength training. 

Switching positions, I knocked the wind out of him as I slammed my arms full-force into his chest, taking all his breath away. And not in the sexy, "You take my breath away!" way. 

Today he told me that I may need to take a girl trip to Mexico. Where I have some sex with a Latino lover for a week solid, so I can get some practice in, and get used to being twisted and bended around. I mean, technically, My Mister could do the work to get me back into shape, but I think he's pretty intimidated by the amount of work needed. And of getting knocked unconscious or having his heart ruptured. 

I mean, I'll do it. For the good of our relationship, if I have to go and take on a foreign lover, I will. 

He just might want to wear a Kevlar vest. 

I'm still not sure when my skillz waned to such a degree, but it was apparent that I have not been up to any gymnastic tricks in a very long time. 

I'd better get better, or I'll have to take at least one "bang" off my name, if I can't prove myself worthy of the double Bang. 

I'm going to stretch now. And maybe find a lover. For the good of my relationship, Reader. Not because I want to. 

Monday, September 9, 2013

Oceanfront Property In Arizona

Oh, Walgreens, why do you have to entice me with all your But Wait, There's More! innovations As Seen on TV?  Because I can't seem to resist trying them all, and it usually ends up with someone disappointed. Usually me, but sometimes My Mister, because he has to deal with the #1/ inevitable returns or #2/ stuff all over the counters.  

Recent purchases include the Instabulb, which is Insta-mazing in my closet (after 1 day, it didn't fall down yet), HD Vision Fold-Away sunglasses, which now that I've read the reviews I don't have high hopes for them at all, and this thing:

This looks like a something that would be used on a vagina, either before, after, or in conjunction with one of those old-fashioned water-bottle style douches. Which, by the way, I remember seeing hanging in the bathtub when I was an innocent yute, questioned why a hot water bottle would need such a long hose, never did get an answer. I apologize for that, as I made you think about my mother's vagina just now. Sorry. Er. Back to the item at hand. 

This just looks so... wrong. It's so pink and plastic-y and rubber-ended-y. 

It makes me feel ashamed and a little dirty. 

But what is it, you ask?? Well, Reader, you'll either be relieved or disappointed to find out it's some crazy hair twirler for lazy people who don't want to bother with the arduous task of using a curling iron on their hairs.  It dries AND curls in one step. 

So I guess it could be something you use on your vagina if you were so inclined. And had really long hairs.

I've been whipping my hairs back & forth in this thing (did you catch that pop-culture reference I threw in there for you just now? you're welcome.) for the past few days, and this is as good as it got:

Now, that amount of "curl" is at the end of the day, so it did as it claimed and held the twirls for the entire day. But I'm not sold on that being a curl, or is it really just a batch of messy hair? 

No one told me my hair looked nice today. So maybe it leaned towards "just messy" more than beachy waves. 

I'm on the fence about this. But may have to take it back regardless. It's just a little too.... too.... pornographic, sitting next to my toothbrush, first thing in the morning. A Lady ~ahem~ has her standards.