We've got big busy plans to organize our home office, a.k.a., The Basement, today. Fun, right?. Right.
Some people who work with My Mister are coming over in an hour and a half to help with this endeavor, because it's a huge undertaking. Once and for all, we're going to get a System to the madness. We hope.
In the meantime, I thought of preparing for the cleaning extravaganza by making muffins or something. I haven't, because I don't have a good muffin mix handy, but I find it funny/sad/baffling that my first step for a day of cleaning involves baking. But aren't all things more fun with a baked good?? I"m trying to bring the fun, and it's a tough add to a day of basement-ing. I've just verbed that noun. Go ahead, I'll allow you to use it. Right now I'm chairing, and My Mister and the kittens are couching.
This is going no where fast, much like my cleaning and baking projects. Perhaps I'll photo this transformation. Perhaps not.
Saturday, October 27, 2012
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Diversity & Inclusion.
Waking up this morning, I poked My Mister awake and then told him this dreamy tale:
T: "I just had a really diverse dream. In the first part, I was walking down the street and set my bag down for a moment, and a silent Chinese woman snatched it from me. I followed her home and looked into the bag, and in the bag was some of my real-life stuff, including my really light-weight umbrella I like. I asked her why she took my stuff, and she just looked at me. Because she was a silent Chinese woman. I let her keep it all, but was a little miffed about losing my umbrella."
"And then in the next scene, I was getting finger-banged by an extremely tall black basketball player, and I'm pretty sure Kim Kardashian was in the background. I'm sure this was a dream, because he was able to slip his hands right into the loose waistband of my jeans, and I haven't had a loose waistband in years."
K: mutters, "Huh." And rolls back over for more sleep.
T: "I just had a really diverse dream. In the first part, I was walking down the street and set my bag down for a moment, and a silent Chinese woman snatched it from me. I followed her home and looked into the bag, and in the bag was some of my real-life stuff, including my really light-weight umbrella I like. I asked her why she took my stuff, and she just looked at me. Because she was a silent Chinese woman. I let her keep it all, but was a little miffed about losing my umbrella."
"And then in the next scene, I was getting finger-banged by an extremely tall black basketball player, and I'm pretty sure Kim Kardashian was in the background. I'm sure this was a dream, because he was able to slip his hands right into the loose waistband of my jeans, and I haven't had a loose waistband in years."
K: mutters, "Huh." And rolls back over for more sleep.
Monday, October 22, 2012
Bad is Bad
Huey Lewis & The News was in town last night, Reader, and guess who was at the concert?? Go ahead, give 'er a guess.
Give up?
Well, us, of course! My Mister is Huey's #1 Fan. Yes, he would hobble him and keep him in the back room as a pet if the opportunity presented itself. He loves him that hard.
We see every Huey concert in the surrounding vacinity, and have even traveled out of the country (well, Canada, but technically it IS International Travels) to see Mr. Lewis & his News.
The News aren't looking very new any more. Everyone's getting old. Er. Older. But Huey, he could still keep the Heart of Rock & Roll a-beatin', and jammed around on that harmonica like he owned that bitch.
Most interesting part of the "rock" concert, in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame City? Some chick was up and dancing in her seat, shakin' her moneymaker and just having a grand old time. Everyone else was sitting. We were sitting because everyone else was, and I would have just felt awkward to be a lone dancer.
But that's not the interesting part. The interesting part was when some old (50's old, not really old, but grey-headed old, not 50-is-the-new-30 old), yelled out "SIT THE FUCK DOWN, YOU BITCH, YOU'RE BLOCKING MY VIEW!"
I, of course, turned around to witness the commotion. The gal who was dancing? Got mad props from me (silently, I didn't want to really get involved), as she turned around, looked at the lady and proceeded to dance harder and shout louder. She sat down when she was damned good and ready, about 2 songs later, and then she was up on her feet as the music moved her.
It was a little geriatric of a concert. It started at 7:30, and at 9:07 Huey announced it was almost time to wrap things up because at his age, 9:00 means bedtime. He was kidding, but I like that he poked fun at himself. The couple sitting if front of me were wearing ear plugs. I don't get how you can hear a music concert while wearing ear plugs. The whole point of a concert is to hear the music. Right? And a lot of people were "beating the crowd" so they left before the awesome encore. Earplugs Couple included.
I don't know reader. I'm confused about proper concerting, I guess. To dance, not to dance? Ear-plug or not ear-plug? Leave early or see the encore? Those are the questions.
But Huey and My Mister? Danced to their own beats and enjoyed the hell out of themselves. And we stayed to the very last note was sung.
Give up?
Well, us, of course! My Mister is Huey's #1 Fan. Yes, he would hobble him and keep him in the back room as a pet if the opportunity presented itself. He loves him that hard.
We see every Huey concert in the surrounding vacinity, and have even traveled out of the country (well, Canada, but technically it IS International Travels) to see Mr. Lewis & his News.
The News aren't looking very new any more. Everyone's getting old. Er. Older. But Huey, he could still keep the Heart of Rock & Roll a-beatin', and jammed around on that harmonica like he owned that bitch.
Most interesting part of the "rock" concert, in the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame City? Some chick was up and dancing in her seat, shakin' her moneymaker and just having a grand old time. Everyone else was sitting. We were sitting because everyone else was, and I would have just felt awkward to be a lone dancer.
But that's not the interesting part. The interesting part was when some old (50's old, not really old, but grey-headed old, not 50-is-the-new-30 old), yelled out "SIT THE FUCK DOWN, YOU BITCH, YOU'RE BLOCKING MY VIEW!"
I, of course, turned around to witness the commotion. The gal who was dancing? Got mad props from me (silently, I didn't want to really get involved), as she turned around, looked at the lady and proceeded to dance harder and shout louder. She sat down when she was damned good and ready, about 2 songs later, and then she was up on her feet as the music moved her.
It was a little geriatric of a concert. It started at 7:30, and at 9:07 Huey announced it was almost time to wrap things up because at his age, 9:00 means bedtime. He was kidding, but I like that he poked fun at himself. The couple sitting if front of me were wearing ear plugs. I don't get how you can hear a music concert while wearing ear plugs. The whole point of a concert is to hear the music. Right? And a lot of people were "beating the crowd" so they left before the awesome encore. Earplugs Couple included.
I don't know reader. I'm confused about proper concerting, I guess. To dance, not to dance? Ear-plug or not ear-plug? Leave early or see the encore? Those are the questions.
But Huey and My Mister? Danced to their own beats and enjoyed the hell out of themselves. And we stayed to the very last note was sung.
Saturday, October 20, 2012
Like Prison, Only With Champagne.
My floral-printed tourist and I are home.
I only cried twice on vacation. And I discovered that I have a tich of clausterphobia. Both crying games were in and because of our teensy-tiny interior stateroom cruise ship room.
I wanted to be able to un-hoity myself and travel without pretenses. But the tears, they betrayed my good intentions.
The first tears came as I tried to make peace with the size and lack of window/fresh air in our room.
My Mister filmed that little breakdown, all the while patting me and telling me "there there." And then I got the blubbering under control and told myself it would all be okay, and then I felt the walls closing in on me and started crying again. Ugly crying, Reader, not just a few simple tears.
The room was pretty small. Bed against the wall, only one way out - over the other person. Here it is from the doorway...which really photographs larger than it appeared in real life, once two bodies were inserted into that picture.
We never did figure out what the cloth bumper pad thingies on the wall were for, other than we stuck our clothes on it. There was one on the other side of the bed, too, which made me feel like I was in a bumper-padded crib.
I actually was forced to unpack, and hang my clothes up so the suitcase could slide under the bed.
The dresser area was too small to even be functional, and they kept sending food and champagne to our room which took up the little space there was. Yeah, I know, my hardship was figuring out what to do with all the chocolate covered strawberries and champagne.....
The bathroom was so small, you could brush your teeth, shower and stick your leg out to rest on the toilet while shaving it. Drying off involved stepping into the cabin. Couldn't wash my feet in the shower, no bending room.
So yeah, small. Tear-worthy, apparently.
I guess I am hoity. We slept. A lot. A whole lot. Because we couldn't tell if it was day or night once we went to bed, so we just kept sleeping and sleeping.
But occasionally we did get up and step outside. And saw this:
Which we liked and made me happy.
I would not do well in prison. At all. Nope. Although I pretended I was locked up and doing some hard time, and then we played conjugal visits so it wasn't totally without merit.
The end.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Wash, Rinse, Repeat.
We're washing clothes, Reader! They delivered the new new new LG-brand washer today. And I've been washing clothes for hours.
One thing to note about these new "energy efficient" washers. They take a long-fucking-ass time to do a load of clothes. I haven't quite reconciled how a load of clothes that used to take about 45 minutes to wash, now takes an hour and thirty six minutes is efficiently using energy.
I stood down there and watched it for a good bit, to see what all the fuss was about. It's rather addictive viewing with the glass top. It does a lot of slow spinning. For minutes and minutes and minutes at a time. And then some jerking and some shooting of water, and I"m not really sure how it's beating the dirt out of the clothes, but they come out smelling clean so something must be happening in there.
We got almost everything washed, including the bedding. But I'm not exaggerating when I say it's been an all afternoon process. I'm tired. But I have one last load to dry.
We go on vacation in the morning. Don't come and steal my washer.
One thing to note about these new "energy efficient" washers. They take a long-fucking-ass time to do a load of clothes. I haven't quite reconciled how a load of clothes that used to take about 45 minutes to wash, now takes an hour and thirty six minutes is efficiently using energy.
I stood down there and watched it for a good bit, to see what all the fuss was about. It's rather addictive viewing with the glass top. It does a lot of slow spinning. For minutes and minutes and minutes at a time. And then some jerking and some shooting of water, and I"m not really sure how it's beating the dirt out of the clothes, but they come out smelling clean so something must be happening in there.
We got almost everything washed, including the bedding. But I'm not exaggerating when I say it's been an all afternoon process. I'm tired. But I have one last load to dry.
We go on vacation in the morning. Don't come and steal my washer.
Friday, October 12, 2012
We Rang The Bell Anyway
We had Arby's for dinner tonight. And I wondered - as I always do when I'm eating Arby's - if perchance someone had jizzed in the horsey sauce.
That bothers me.
But not enough to not eat there. Occasionally, Reader. Not all the time. I don't like a jizzy roastbeef sammy all the time.
I mentioned my jizz-in-the-sauce concerns to My Mister.
He looked at me with "what the fuck?" eyes.
And then I continued to spread the jizzy sauce on my bun and idly comment, "Well, it's not like I've never had jizz in my mouth before, so I guess what's the big deal."
He informed me I was pretty fucked up.
And then we both dipped our curly fries in the potentially-jizzy sauced and continued with our Friday night date night dinner.
The End.
And I'm sorry for that.
**The Arby's by our house has two giant bells and you can tug on the rope and ring them loudly if you've had great customer service. I cannot resist ringing the hell out of that bell on my way out. Tonight I rang it so enthusiastically I think I went a little deaf in my left ear. I wanted to thank them immensely even if I did have a jizzy sandwich. Because I probably didn't. Probably.
That bothers me.
But not enough to not eat there. Occasionally, Reader. Not all the time. I don't like a jizzy roastbeef sammy all the time.
I mentioned my jizz-in-the-sauce concerns to My Mister.
He looked at me with "what the fuck?" eyes.
And then I continued to spread the jizzy sauce on my bun and idly comment, "Well, it's not like I've never had jizz in my mouth before, so I guess what's the big deal."
He informed me I was pretty fucked up.
And then we both dipped our curly fries in the potentially-jizzy sauced and continued with our Friday night date night dinner.
The End.
And I'm sorry for that.
**The Arby's by our house has two giant bells and you can tug on the rope and ring them loudly if you've had great customer service. I cannot resist ringing the hell out of that bell on my way out. Tonight I rang it so enthusiastically I think I went a little deaf in my left ear. I wanted to thank them immensely even if I did have a jizzy sandwich. Because I probably didn't. Probably.
Monday, October 8, 2012
We Are Not Impressed.
Mykala and I are NOT impressed. With Samsung appliances or Orville Redenbacher's microwave popcorn in some fancy stupid pop-up bag-that-becomes-a-bowl thing.
I thought it would be nice to have some snackies around the house so I threw a box of that popcorn in my buggy at the grocery store and checked out. But interestingly enough (well, not really that interesting, but since I'm in charge of the story, there you go), I don't even really LIKE microwave popcorn, so why I bought it is still a little bit of a mystery. I think it's because so many people love microwave popcorn that I think I should like it, too, but invariably do not and all I'm left with is the taste of disappointment and a stink in the house that will not dissipate.
And this particular foray into the Kingdom of MicroPopcorn was an especially brilliant failure. It's just... slicky and sticky and slimy and gross. Their Redenbacher website touts this Pop Up Bowl as "Voted Product of the Year" - hey, Popcorn Makers: it's not a win if you're just proclaiming it yourself. Because surely the public is smart enough to vote for something better than this mess. Right, Romney voters? Well, surely someone out there is smart enough to pick a different popcorn and president than whomever's casting votes for either of these two items.
I'm not even sure that sentence makes sense, but it's my one and only political stab, so there.
I've decided to pass out the unopened packages to trick-or-treaters. Kids are too stupid to know that it sucks.
Sunday, October 7, 2012
The Jerk Store Called....
I have a friend, let's call her Brenda (because that is her name). She has a really nice email signature that says, "Let There be Peace on Earth, and Let it Begin with Me." I really like that message and nod in agreement reading it and my inner voice will say, "Yes! Me, too! I will help to create peace!" But I always sort of thought that this applies to Big Deals in the world, like wars and 9/11 and large-scale things of that nature that I really have no influence over so it's just a gratuitous thought with no real application to me. I just promise not to start a Holy War, and then pat myself on the back and call it good.
I also like to think that I'm all zen and kind, too, I mean whattheheck, I go and visit the Mother's from India who hug it out and pray for my peaceful soul and have been in the presence of His Holiness the Dalai Lama, and not only read Eat, Pray, Love, but I saw the movie, too. The horrible horrible movie. Ergo, because I've done all those things, I like to think I am spiritually evolving. But just because I've seen The Dalai Lama doesn't mean I am the Dalai Lama, and every once in a while my real asshole nature will rear it's head and present a teaching moment for myself, should I be so inclined to listen.
Today I had a Teaching Moment.
Because my new new washer didn't arrive on Saturday, they pushed delivery to Sunday. And the automated phone message told me to expect my Sunday delivery between 10:30 and 1:00. Then 2:00 came around and no washer appeared. So I called HH Gregg to find out whad'up, cause I have things to do (including a play I wanted to attend at 2:00), and I am very important and my time cannot be squandered. Ahem. As I sit here on the Internet...
The gal on the phone apologized for my inconvenience, but then informed me that my scheduled delivery was actually between 2:00 and 5:30. The automated machine was wrong. And then I sort of went off on her and lambasted her that if they knew there was a problem with the automated messages why didn't they call the people getting deliveries this morning and let us know. Which I still sort of stand by that comment, because really it's just good manners. And I'm all about good manners, especially when I'm yelling into the phone at a stranger who has zero control and is just trying to apologize. I got a lot of pent up words out and even said something along the lines of, "I couldn't care less about your apology, that's not doing me a bit of actual good." She responded, "I am offering you an apology from the heart, and I will not stay on the phone with you any longer getting disrespected."
Right there, Reader. My Teaching Moment.
I was taking out a bunch of annoyance on another human being just because I was inconvenienced. She apologized from her heart and I was too busy being an asshole to take it.
I regrouped. And then I apologized for being an asshole, and owned the fact that I had no right to verbally treat her with such disdain and I had created a big to-do out of absolutely nothing important at all - so I was a little inconvenienced, didn't get to a show I wanted to see, whatever - life goes on and that little blip of lost time won't even matter at the end of it all.
It's just easy to get caught up in the "I'm more important than you!" mentality. I got swept up in myself and needed someone to innocently and unknowingly bring me back. She's just a girl, trying to earn a living to take care of whatever it is in her life that needs taking care of, and probably would have rather been doing something else on a Sunday afternoon than talking to me. So who am I to act like that. Shame on me.
She ended up refunding the delivery fee, which I said didn't matter because I had a rebate for it anyway, but now I guess I don't have to fill out the paperwork for it so she saved me some hassle.
Let there be peace in Parma. And let it begin with me treating the people that cross my path with courtesy and kindness.
....they were running outta me.
....they were running outta me.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Dirty Girl
Sitting here in the recliner with my pajama pants pulled up just under my tits, I look like an old man. That's not necessarily a good look for me.
Anyway.
How clean are my clothes with my new washer & dryer, you ask? Well. They are so (not) clean. Because my new washer? Was good for a load and a half of clothes before it took a shit and died right there on the basement floor.
The first load had me mesmerized. It has an Aquajet feature, Reader, which is a big whoosh of waterfall that cascades in cycles over the clothes. I was ready to put on my bikini and stand underneath it and pretend I was in Hawaii. I sat and watched my washer wash clothes for a good twenty minutes. My Mister came looking for me, I was gone so long. He joined me then, elbows pressed on the clear washer top, watching the drum rotate like synchronized swimmers, and then the cascades of water rushing over, then more synchronized spinning - it was mesmerizing. And I watched all that and sighed and whispered into the basement, "This looks like a whole lot of things that could go wrong right here."
And then the Universe said, "AH HA, Motherfucker! I shall show you how quickly we can start with that!"
Only I didn't know it, because I went upstairs and waited for the cycle to finish and it did and I rotated the cascaded-water-cleaned clothes into the new dryer where they were fluffed and steamed and twirled and heated while putting a second load of dirties in the washer.
It was obviously too much to ask.
The following evening when I went to rotate? Discovered I was locked out of my washer. The top? Just wouldn't open. Nope. I pressed my nose against the glass top and rubbed my eyes in disbelief. Was that - no, it can't be - a tub filled with water??
Yes, yes it was. The drum filled with water, and my clothes trapped within. We pulled out the manuel. Checked to see if we'd blown a fuse. Scratched our head in disbelief and coded it.
Called the service dude. Came out yesterday, pronounced it. The store offered to give me $200 off. The service guy said don't take it, get a new machine, this doesn't look good for the state of things to come. The store offered me another hundred bucks off and the promise to fix it. I couldn't take the deal. I want a new machine.
We did get the clothes out. My new new washer should be delivered on Saturday. And this is why I can never have anything nice, Reader. Because the Universe is out to fuck me every chance it gets. I'm an easy target. Obviously. With a load of dirty/moldy/smelly clothes.
Don't stand too close to me. You may get the aftershocks of the bad lucks being sent my way.
Anyway.
How clean are my clothes with my new washer & dryer, you ask? Well. They are so (not) clean. Because my new washer? Was good for a load and a half of clothes before it took a shit and died right there on the basement floor.
The first load had me mesmerized. It has an Aquajet feature, Reader, which is a big whoosh of waterfall that cascades in cycles over the clothes. I was ready to put on my bikini and stand underneath it and pretend I was in Hawaii. I sat and watched my washer wash clothes for a good twenty minutes. My Mister came looking for me, I was gone so long. He joined me then, elbows pressed on the clear washer top, watching the drum rotate like synchronized swimmers, and then the cascades of water rushing over, then more synchronized spinning - it was mesmerizing. And I watched all that and sighed and whispered into the basement, "This looks like a whole lot of things that could go wrong right here."
And then the Universe said, "AH HA, Motherfucker! I shall show you how quickly we can start with that!"
Only I didn't know it, because I went upstairs and waited for the cycle to finish and it did and I rotated the cascaded-water-cleaned clothes into the new dryer where they were fluffed and steamed and twirled and heated while putting a second load of dirties in the washer.
It was obviously too much to ask.
The following evening when I went to rotate? Discovered I was locked out of my washer. The top? Just wouldn't open. Nope. I pressed my nose against the glass top and rubbed my eyes in disbelief. Was that - no, it can't be - a tub filled with water??
Yes, yes it was. The drum filled with water, and my clothes trapped within. We pulled out the manuel. Checked to see if we'd blown a fuse. Scratched our head in disbelief and coded it.
Called the service dude. Came out yesterday, pronounced it. The store offered to give me $200 off. The service guy said don't take it, get a new machine, this doesn't look good for the state of things to come. The store offered me another hundred bucks off and the promise to fix it. I couldn't take the deal. I want a new machine.
We did get the clothes out. My new new washer should be delivered on Saturday. And this is why I can never have anything nice, Reader. Because the Universe is out to fuck me every chance it gets. I'm an easy target. Obviously. With a load of dirty/moldy/smelly clothes.
Don't stand too close to me. You may get the aftershocks of the bad lucks being sent my way.
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