Saturday, December 30, 2006

Adventures in Homebuying: Moving Day

Moving day came and went with much fanfare.

I feel as though I have been weared, teared, and dehaired. Only a cheerleader on prom night could have legs that hurt worse than mine right now.

The movers were scheduled to be at the house between the hours of 11am and 1pm. So, imagine my surprise when I found them parked in front of my building at 10:30am when I returned from dropping the furballs off at the house.

Someone once wished that I had good-looking movers...

Now, I'm not saying they were ugly. I will say they had, uhhh, charming personalities and leave it at that. When one let out a loud belch right in the middle of my living room, I could pretty much tell I was dealing when men of high caliber.

The moving company scheduled me for a four-hour move. The movers had my stuff packed in the truck in just under an hour. We were making great time! Heather was going to have this done under the two-hour window!!

Then, we got out on the highway. General flow of traffic on I-70 is maybe 65 mph. Because the moving truck wanted to follow me (I have no idea why they didn't have a map to my address), I had to drive what they were driving. I don't think we made it past 50mph. It took longer to get to my house, than it did to load or unload it.

So much for my two-hour window.

The move took 4.25 hours and just under $500 because I had a coupon for $25 off. Thank God for the Yellow Pages.

For the remainder of the afternoon, I unpacked a few boxes and tried to coax George out from hiding. Trish came over to see the house, then a friend from work came over to he me unpack. We got all the dishes unpacked, and many other boxes moved to storage, before I threw up my hands in surrender...two hours after my knees did.

I'm surrounded by boxes. George has been sticking to me like Velcro because he's traumatized. My fridge is still in the garage, and I have to go to the garage when I want a slice of cheese. I'm trying to orchestrate a mass effort to bring the fridge into the kitchen, maybe Monday night.

My New Year's Eve plans fell through because my partner-in-crime got a better offer (sometimes, I don't know why I even bother...). I've been invited to a party, but I think I will just end up staying home for the night, unpacking, and trying to figure out where to put everything.

I won't have my computer up and running until Wednesday when the phone guy comes to install a jack in my designated office, the same day they are coming to install a satellite dish. Yes, you heard me.

Heather's going to get to see real television so she can watch all the crappy reality shows, too!

Wednesday, December 27, 2006

FRAGILE: It Must Be French

I'm surrounded by packed boxes, large yellow garbage bags filled with junk I'm not taking with me to the new house.

I'm nowhere close to being finished.

For one thing, I've run out of boxes. I think I am going to have to go to the house and unpack some more so I have more empty boxes to use, all without actually having to buy more for tomorrow.

I packed away all my dishes today. Finally, a good use for The Star. I probably went through 4 newspapers just wrapping anything fragile. My hands black from all the ink. I hate having dirty hands, so it drove me nuts and I had to go wash them every time I looked at them. I tried not to look at them as I was packing.

I had to venture into the Bowels of Hell (Walmart) to get more packing tape. I stopped and picked up a chicken dinner because I packed all I needed to cook with. Naturally, everyone else was at Walmart, and they all converged at the isle where all the holiday stuff is marked down. Unfortunately, the packing tape was next to that isle.

Tonight, I have to dismantle the daybed in the spare room. Try to toss as much crap into yellow garbage bags. Unplug the television from all the other electrical stuff it's plugged into. I haven't decided if I am going to make it a late night, or early morning. The movers should be here between 11am and 1pm.

I've marked every box with breakable stuff FRAGILE in red ink. I hope the movers see it. I hope the movers can read. I would be very sad if any of my Fiestaware was broken.

I also tried to get my Internet service switched over to the house...which proves to be as complicated as brain surgery. Why can't the website just have a simple method for doing it, rather than spend 30 minutes searching the site for a phone number to just call. Then, everything is automated when you call so you don't get to speak to a live person.

I'm done bitching. Time to get back to work.

Tuesday, December 26, 2006

The Grinch That Slept Through Christmas

Christmas is over...thank goodness!

I don't know if it was just me, or did the stores seem a little overzealous in their holiday marketing? I particularly hated the Toyota commercial on the radio, especially when the women shouts out "Sienna!"

I worked both Christmas Eve and Christmas night, and sleeping in between. I didn't go spend any time with family. I didn't call anyone. Aside from the fact that there was no traffic while driving home Monday morning, it was pretty much just like any other day. Because of the moving situation, I didn't put up any Christmas decorations, and I have a TON of decorations. I didn't feel in the Christmas mood, sort of disconnected from it. Christmas is a religious holiday, and it seems that with each passing year, society moves further and further away from that.

Will I burn in hell if I say I don't like Christmas? Actually, I just hate what it has become, and I don't particularly feel like celebrating the commercial side of it anymore.

Next year, I think I am going to put up a Festivus pole in the front yard, and maybe a small one for inside the house.
Later in January, I'm going to have a nice dinner at my house with the family. Kant's family always has a birthday party for Jesus: a nice dinner at home where the family dresses in their Sunday best. I don't know if there is a birthday cake involved.
Sounds like a good idea to me.

Saturday, December 23, 2006

Adventures in Homebuying: The Last Days

I have just made an appointment with Two Men and a Truck to come move the big crap in my house this Thursday. So, until then, I have to scramble to put everything small in boxes. Depending on how speedy they are will determine if I have them take the boxes. I don't want to exceed the two hour window I am paying for. To help expedite the process, I am also going to disassemble everything so all they have to do is put it in the truck.

Did I mention I work until Tuesday morning? It's going to be a fun week! I'm fairly certain that the rest of the painting I will be doing at the house will have to happen after I move it. Oh's just touch-ups anyway.

Initially, I was going to rent a truck and have friends help, but with it being during the week, and a holiday one at that, I didn't like the idea that I didn't have any concrete commitments. Besides, most everyone will either be working or out of town. As much as I hate the idea of dropping a few hundred for movers, I have come to the conclusion that I really don't have much of a choice.

Only one more week of apartment life. One more week until I can give Bloated Single Mother the finger. No more laundromat! No more shared parking!


Thursday, December 21, 2006

A Mormon, a Catholic, an Agnostic and a Gay Man Walk Into a Strip Club...

Tuesday...was the work Christmas party. It was held at The Granfalloon this year, and not someones house...which means that no one got rip-snorting drunk and passed out on top the coat check.

It was a sedate gathering, to say the least. That will probably never happen again.

We had the room until 9pm, which was far too early for some folks to call it a night, so a group of us went over to Cafe Trio where folks sipped on martinis such as the Paris Hilton (Pink Panties), the Mel Gibson (Passion of the Fruit), Courtney Love (Liquid Cocaine), and the Betty Ford (non-alcoholic).

It is there that folks either a: sober up or b: get further sauced. One person gets so tanked she announces to the entire restaurant that big boobs were no laughing matter. An extra person arrives, who is the girlfriend of Agnostic's brother. She is oblivious to the fact that her boyfriend is currently on the Plaza with some other chick.

Moving right along...

So, Cafe Trio closes, and the four remaining (see title) stand around wondering "what's next?". The Agnostic thinks its a swell idea to go visit a strip club. Everyone else looks around, bewildered. Because we are too chicken-shit to say no, we go along.

The place is called Temptations. It's a strip club. We pay $19 cover charge for something I can go home and look at for free. The place is dark, and has a seedy feel. Agnostic is the only one who feels at home. The rest of us feel like we're on an alien planet wondering, "What is God's name am I doing here?"

We find a table and plant ourselves. Agnostic is surveying the spread (literally), the rest of us are trying not to make eye contact with anyone. A dancer wanders by and tells us we are going to have a good time.


So, the dancers do what passes for dancing: shake their ass, grab their boobs, wave their va-jay-jay in the faces of various patrons for dollars. ONE DOLLAR BILLS! I think I'd still prefer dress as a man dressing in drag and lip sync Dolly Parton songs for dollars, thank you very much.

Gay Man and myself are talking quietly, mostly discussing what these girls could have done in life that have landed them here. Catholic (Paul) goes between listening to us, and watching the girls climb the stripper pole. He is the first one to notice when one dancer uses the pole before cleaning it off from the previous dancer. He's somewhat of a germ freak.

The geeky looking dancer with glasses grabs Agnostic by his sweater and drags him back in to the VIP room, leaving us sitting there with his cell phone. Thanks a lot, asshole. The phone continues to ring, and we see it's from Agnostic's brother's girlfriend. She calls ten times. Apparently, she has found out about boyfriend's evening activities on the Plaza.

If Bruno were to draw a comic strip according to our experience, it would show me, Paul and the Gay Guy (who is a great friend of mine) sitting at a table, and we'd all be thinking different things.

Paul: I wish that one would come out and smack her ass again...but she needs to clean the stripper pole first.
GG: This confirms that I am totally all about the penis.
Me: White faux wood shades would look really good in my kitchen. I need to add that to my Lowe's list.

After fifteen minutes, Gay Man announces he likes penis and therefor he is going to go home, leaving Paul and myself sitting there, watching Agnostic's phone ring every five minutes. Various girls come out and do their little, ahem, dance. One thing I have noticed, is that not only am I the ONLY female patron in the establishment, I have the biggest boobs of EVERYONE there...including the dancers. Most of the dancers look like the women you see in National Geographic. It's kind of sad. Apparently, stripping doesn't make the kind of bank that can afford a boob job.

At one point, a dancer walks up to me and asks me if I want a dance. I politely tell her that I'm fine, and thank her for asking. Thirty minutes later, another dancer approaches me with the same question and gets the same response. I look over to Paul and observe that no one has offered a dance to him. Some guys just can't get a break.

Agnostic's phone continues to ring from the brother's girlfriend, and I am two seconds away from throwing the damn thing across the room when Agnostic emerges from the VIP room. Thankfully, this means we can leave.

Agnostic tells us that the Geeky Stripper is actually a sweetheart. What?!? He just spent over an hour in the VIP room, giving her money so she would dance and talk and Godonlyknows what else. If she were a sweetheart, she would have done it for free. His comment elicits the biggest eye roll from Yours Truly.

Finally, we leave. It's hard to say who was happier to or Paul. Grilling him later, Paul confesses that strippers do nothing for him as you never know where these women have been before you came along. Besides, he's more a hands-on kind of guy...

I've never, ever going to EVER go to one of these places again. However, if any good can be extolled from it, I can always tell my daughter (if I have one), or even my niece that if you don't do your homework, you'll end up dancing in a strip club with boobs that look like they have been rolled over by a Zamboni.

Another good thing...I totally had to rewrite the opening segment in my book because I had the strip club sequence ALL WRONG.

Tuesday, December 19, 2006

If a Fat Girl Screams in an Empty House, Do the Appliances Laugh at Her?

Excited, I took over some dirty linens to the house to wash in my very own washer and dryer. Ahhh...just saying that gives me warm, fuzzy feelings: my very own washer and dryer.

Before I could do laundry, however, I had to hook up the washer and dryer. Not too water hose goes to hot water spout, cold water hose goes to cold water spout, plug it in, wash clothes.

So, I started my first load and was alarmed that I had no hot water running into the washer. Logic would tell me that certainly there is some sort of knob or something that I turn on so the hot water can go to the washer, right?

I disappear into the storage room that houses the furnace, hot water heater, and all those other things that run a house behind the scenes. After poking around, I see a red lever which looks like it is piped into the utility room where the washer sits. I turn the lever and I hear water begin to run. Awesome.

I hop up the stairs to the utility room where I poke my head in the washer. Still no hot water. Then where is all that water running to? I thought. Maybe I would just peek around the house and try to find out.

First place I looked was the kitchen, where a fountain of water is shooting out of the ground, spraying the cabinets, the walls, and pretty much soaking everything that is in the kitchen. I scream and run downstairs and make a mad dash to shut off the red lever. Apparently, that lever controls the water that is meant to go to the refrigerator for the filtered water and ice maker. Well, at least I know that works, and when the time comes to turn on the ice maker, I'll know exactly which lever to push.

So, I go to Lowes and purchase a Shop Vac. I have a feeling I'm going to be using it a lot.

My water mess cleaned, I decide to just wash in cold water and turn the washer back on. Now it has hot water, and it apparently had nothing to do with anything I did.

The dryer worked without incident of fire, only I discovered a shirt and pair of black socks, the owner being Ridiculously Hot Guy. I think he did this on purpose because he, like all other guys, noticed that I have a really cute butt and wanted to see it, I mean, me again.

Or not.

I did two loads of laundry without flooding or burning the house down. I call that I good day. I also managed to paint a second coat to the red in the dining room and kitchen (red is a bitch of a color to paint), and paint the mushroom color to the bottom third of the dining room wall. I did a small section of the blue (Calvary) in the great room and decided it was too dark, so now I am going to just paint the entire great room the same mushroom color. Tomorrow, I will do just that, in addition to the touch-ups on the red, and start on the white trim in the kitchen and dining room.

I'm sick of painting.

Proud Owner of Large Appliances

I decided to give Craigslist another chance and found a listing for a black fridge, in my price range. I emailed right away and the seller responded that I was the first person of many to reply, and he would let me have first crack at it.

So Friday, I drove to his house to check out the fridge. When he opened the door, the first thing that popped into my head was, "What fridge?" He was hot. Ridiculously hot.

God bless Craigslist!

I decided to buy the fridge (and the fact that the seller was hotter than donut grease had nothing to do with that decision) and promised I would return the following day with the means to transport said fridge from point A to point B.

I enlisted my little brother, Mike, and told him to rally as many extra hands as he could find.

The next day, Mike, 'bert and 'bert's Dad arrive with a trailer. Immediately, they set to carting out the fridge in my apartment kitchen. I ask them what they are doing, and tell them the fridge in question is a million miles away in Stanley, Kansas.

So, we trek to middle-of-nowhere and Ridiculously Hot Guy is there. Apparently, my brother has reading my expressions down to an art and he proceeds to say every possible thing to embarrass me in front of Ridiculously Hot Guy. Did I ever mention that my brother minces words about as well as I do?

Larry, Darryl, and Darryl (i.e. my brother and his cronies) in addition to RHG, work to move the massive fridge out to the trailer. I stand by, admiring the strong arms of RHG.

Fridge loaded, RHG presents Mike and the Boys the only two things that he kept in his fridge: a large jar of whole pickles, and almost a half a case of Bud Light. Mike decides that RHG is acceptable enough to date his sister, and shifts his matchmaking gears into overdrive.

RHG mentions that no one has bought his washer and dryer from him, and I immediately jump on him, er, I mean, the window of opportunity to have a washer and dryer of my very own. After inspecting said washer and dryer, I tell Mike and the Boys to load them up with the fridge, which they do.

"Is there anything else in the house you want to sell me?" I innocently ask RHG. Mike practically snorts beer out of his nose. His golden opportunity has arrived.

"What's with all the sexual innuendo, Heather?" Mike asks loudly. I blush ten-thousand shades of red. Bastard. I'm certain RHG now thinks that my family is a bunch of retards. The sooner we can leave him alone, the sooner he can feel better about humanity.

With sad heart, we leave RHG's house and trek to mine. I frequently check my rear view mirror to make sure I don't see a large, black refrigerator tumbling down the highway. We arrive to my house where my brother does his time-honored tradition and proceeds to pollute one of my bathrooms. 'bert uses the other bathroom. My house wins Mike's Seal of Approval because the toilet didn't overflow.

For now, the fridge sits in my garage until I can replace the copper water line for a steel-braided one, and have enough manpower to move the fridge from the garage to the kitchen. But...the important thing is that my search is over, and I now have the exact fridge I have been wanting for my kitchen. The washer and dryer an added bonus.

It was as if it was meant to be.

Monday, December 18, 2006

Moving Sucks

I didn't go to the house today. Rather, I opted to sleep in a little bit longer, and dedicate myself to packing as much crap tonight as I possibly can.

My organized, systematic way of packing: all items packed in specific boxes according to room, use and priority, has now given way to just throwing everything in boxes and marking "room misc" with black permanent marker.

Now that I have a washer and dryer, I can even start lugging dirty laundry over and do it there.

I'm also hungry. I have food, but that food is smaller parts to bigger food (such as casseroles) and I don't have all the parts to make one big food. I am refraining from making any big grocery store excursions because the more stuff I buy, means the more stuff I have to cart across the Greater KC area. But I am hungry. So, I'm going to have to buck up, go out, and buy a frozen pizza or something. There's only so long a person can live on grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup....even though a grilled cheese sandwich is always a good thing.

Tomorrow morning, I will go to the house and finish painting the dining room. I'm doing it in a color called brick red and I have some Bill Brauer prints that will look stellar against the red walls. My mother thinks it's too much red, and says kitchens and dining rooms should be light and airy. That might be true...only if you plan on decorating in country cows and ducks. Brick red dining room with white trim (chair rail, plate covers, etc), brushed nickel light fixtures and the adjoining kitchen with the same brick red color above the white cabinets, black appliances, and either black or marble-ish concrete counter tops.

I also have my work Christmas party to go to tomorrow night. I said I would go, but I guess it just depends on how much I have left to do on the painting, and how I am feeling on the matter. As of late, I've been feeling rather bitchy, and I have just attributed that to all the stress of moving. I'd hate to go to the Christmas party and tell off everyone there, especially that annoying one staffer who has the common sense of a Chia Pet.

I'm never going to move...ever, ever again. It's too emotionally draining.

Time to go find that pizza.

Sometimes, Death is Better

I managed to catch some of the Chiefs game last night while I was working. Patients were distressed. Blood pressure meds had to be increased.

If one didn't know any better, one might think that Lamar Hunt really died from embarassment.

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

Remembering When: Braces

A poster on a cruise message board I frequent solicited advice from other posters because their children were on the verge of getting braces. It made me think about my experience with braces only three years ago. You see, when I was a kid, my parents couldn't afford braces. While I didn't have horrible teeth, there was a degree of crowding on the bottom set because there were too many teeth for such a small mouth. I got the braces before I went to nursing school, wore them for a year, then they were taken off leaving the straightest, whitest teeth you could ever come across (insert joke here).

I won't lie. The experience was probably one of the most painful I have ever voluntarily committed to myself. Ever.

But I digress.

When I was in high school, I used to have a part time job working as a dietary aid at the local nursing home. I never did the cooking. Basically, I did the cleaning, helped serve the residents, and help the cooks in whatever they needed to do.

Why is this important? Let me tell you...

My teeth hurt solid for the week after my spacers were put in. Then, I had to have teeth extracted by an oral surgeon because my mouth is too small to accommodate a full set of teeth. THEN...the ortho put the actual braces on. All in all...I think my mouth ached for an entire month.

After a week of eating just soup, I got pretty sick and tired of it...even though there is a vast variety of soups out there. Plus, you can only go one for so long eating soup and mashed potatoes before you hit burnout. I was hungry for real food. I was perusing my freezer, lamenting at all the tasty things I had in there and could not eat because of the chewing factor, when suddenly I remembered my days working in the nursing home kitchen.

You know where I am going with this, don't you?

You can make ANY food edible in a pureed form. Just because some of the rockin' seniors can't actually masticate, doesn't mean they can't enjoy tasty food.

So, I drew on all my infinite knowledge of pureed food prep and gathered the essential tools: food processor, milk, fish sticks and Velveeta cheese.

I am somewhat embarrassed to say it, but that was the best pureed fish sandwich I have ever tasted. Coincidentally, it was the only pureed fish sandwich I have ever tasted. It sure beat chicken noodle soup all to hell.

In the event I have children, and they have the misfortune of requiring braces, I can rest easy knowing they won't have to suffer through countless bowls of tomato soup and jello like their peers. As long as I have a working food processor, they can join the rest of the family at mealtime without staring longingly at our plates.

They can enjoy what we are enjoying...all without unnecessary chewing.

Tuesday, December 12, 2006

Tales of the Homeowner: Remodeling Burnout

I never thought I would say this, but I am burned out on Lowes. It seems I am there on days I don't have to work, and sometimes twice in one day returning or exchanging stuff that was the: wrong color, wrong size, just plain wrong.

Last night, Paul came over to help me return the bamboo shades I bought for my bedroom that were too small. I measured, then I forgot what the measurements were (I didn't write them down), then guessed when I purchased the blinds. Mom and "the boyfriend" were at the house Sunday to do handyman stuff, including hanging the shades, when it was discovered they were too small. Mom had taken both shades out their respective boxes, then couldn't get them to go back into the boxes.

I managed to successfully roll up one shade and put it back in the box. Not so much with the other one. I just had to settle for taking the rolled up shade, empty box, and everything else back to Lowes.

We exchanged the shades, picked out paint for the great room, kitchen and dining room, looked at refrigerators, bought new light fixtures for the great room, dining room and entrance way, and wandered around the store. After that jaunt, we stopped by my house to drop everything off, before returning to our respective houses.

Today, I returned to Lowes to actually buy the paint and various painting items. Four gallons of paint: two in Sauteed Mushroom, one in Calvary, the last in Brick Dust. I hope my house doesn't look like crap when we are finished. Paul says my color choices are dark and depressing, so my house will be dark and depressing. I told him to fear not, I would simply place a Prozac salt lick at the front door so people could take a swipe before they came in. Problem solved!

Tonight, I'm going to pick up the Mom and drive to the house where we will start painting. The boyfriend will come later bearing turkey enchiladas and a tall ladder for reaching those hard to reach places for painting. In my mother's case, that would be anything higher than five feet.

Friday, I am going to go look at a fridge offered on Craigslist. Less than a year old, and black, and with both an ice maker and water thingie. The guy is moving to California and the apartment he is moving to has a fridge, and therefor doesn't need one. In the event I buy it, I just need to figure out how in the hell I plan on getting it to my house. A 26 cubic foot side-by-side fridge won't exactly fit into the back of a PT Cruiser.

Now, I am just finishing up the laundry I have been neglecting for the past two weeks, then I shall take a shower before picking up the Mom.

I'll post before and after pics of my painting progress.

Monday, December 11, 2006

Because Mondays Usually Suck

I sat in report with a nurse this morning when she got a call on her cell phone. Her daughter called to say that the family dog got out of the yard and was hit by a car that morning and died. The nurse was very distraught. The dog had been in the family for 12 years.

I thought about Sam and I thought about how sad I would be if that had happened to me. I may bitch about him a lot, but I also bitch about my brothers. You bitch about those you love.

Anyway...the asshole who hit the dog (which was a rather large one) just kept driving, even with the daughter standing right there.

So, if you are the douchebag who ran over the German Shepherd on Rainbow this morning and didn't bother to stop, I hope you contract an STD.

When I got home, I looked up the number of a pet cemetery not too far from my apartment and relayed this information to the nurse. After perusing the website of said pet cemetery, I must say I am now depressed.

I gave Sam an extra treat this morning and a scratch behind the ears.

Friday, December 08, 2006

A Mormon Walks Into a Gay Bar...

Last night, a bunch of friends from work wanted to go out and have some drinks, possibly get sauced. Because I practically dwell in Dry Land, would I be willing to be the designated driver?


So, I went. I picked up everyone else (who met at a central location) and off we went. First stop, Tomfooleries on the Plaza where two more people met up with us. Six of us total.

Everyone had a drink and we listened to the cover band, which wasn't bad, actually. It was there that one of the girls had an idea to go to this one place that has a show everything Thursday. It also happened to be a gay bar. I thought Missy B's, but it was a place called Tootsies.


So, I drive the gang there, and we go in to this somewhat obscure entrance. If you didn't know what it was, you wouldn't be able to figure out just by driving past it. One dollar cover charge and everyone bellied up to the bar. As a designated driver, I got my non-alcoholic beverages at no charge. YESSSSSSSS!

Drinks in hand, we settled at a table in the far back corner of the room. Lots of girls running around, some looked like boys, and some looked, uhhh, normal. The show started and there were a couple female impersonators and there were a couple male impersonators. They stood on the stage, lip-syncing a song, maybe dancing, and visiting the people who came up to the stage waving dollar bills. Is this what they all do? Just lip-sync and collect money? Hell...I can do that! Of course, there is the the issue that I look nothing like a boy and have no desire to. Besides, what would I do with "the girls"?

Maybe I could dress as a man trying to impersonate a woman. All it would take is lots of make-up, a big wig, and a very loud dress.

I could lip sync something by Dolly Parton. I could rake in the dough!

That would take care of part of my mortgage.

It is something to consider...

At any rate, three of us six actually got up to dance after the show, leaving me and two other sitting there, slurping on our beverage of choice, watching our surroundings, trying to keep our expressions in check. One of the female impersonators wanders over to our table, which I have come to think of it as "the straight table". I think he/she could tell we were not exactly in our element. We tried to compliment the entertainer, but what do you say to a female impersonator exactly?

Nice fake boobs? Great job lip syncing? Awesome wig? What method do you use to rid your legs of all that unwanted hair??

Shortly after that, the we decided to leave. The other three were going to stay because they were having a good time.

It wasn't that it was because it was a gay bar. I come from the live and let live mindset. I think for me (and the other two echoed my sentiments) it was just because I'm not much of a barfly. I don't care for the smoke, the loud music gives me a headache. I'm just getting old. I have different ideas for fun with friends that doesn't include trying to figure out who is male and who is female.

So goes another life experience I can add to the "been there, done that" list.

Thursday, December 07, 2006

December 6

I spent the entire day yesterday...painting and doing whatnot in my new house. This driving back and forth from apartment to house is bullshit, but I want to have most all the painting done before I move my furniture in. Mom came over, as did Paul (who did a stellar job installing the new outlet covers) and of course, "the boyfriend".

At any rate, while I was painting, I would give thought to the day and it's significance. Thirteen years ago on December 6, 1993, my father died. While it seems kind of odd to remember such a thing and reflect upon it every year for most people, some things sort of stay with you. The circumstances surrounding his death are not average, and it took a while for things to get back to some semblance of normalcy after he died. My brother wouldn't even recognize his birthday (December 5th) for many years afterwards because the memories were just to painful to revisit. Even I still have a difficult time talking about it. I've only uttered the words once in public in front of strangers, and I don't plan on doing so now. It is something I have only discussed with very few close friends, and those people for whom telling the story is only relevant to their situation. To this day, I can't discuss what happened without my voice breaking.

Someday, I will have the courage to write it...but not this day.

As time has passed, the sting has waned to some degree, but the pain truly never goes away. Where there was anger, is now replaced with sadness and pity. Somedays, I can't remember my father's face, and other days it will just come to me as clear as if I had seen him yesterday. The same with his voice.

It still makes me cry.

I wonder what he would think if he could see his kids now, and how they turned out. Sometimes, I have questions I want to ask that I know he would have the answers why my car makes a certain noise, and what's the best way to get up on waterskiis. I wish he were here so I can take him to my new house and have him tell me about all the things I could do, and how he could help me do them because he used to build houses...and we could do those things together. But most of all, I want to see that look in his eyes...the same look he would get when I brought home an award for band, or speech, or something I accomplished that made me stand out above all others. That look of pride that a father can only have for a daughter.

This December 6th passed with little fanfare, but lots of green paint. "The boyfriend" went around and pointed out all the things I could do to my new dwelling, and offered to do it for me...but it wasn't the same. He seems nice enough, but he's not my dad.

For one thing, my father would have never pissed in my back yard instead of going into the house to use the bathroom...and soap.


On a dismal day, it's always good to have loved ones around (or at least people you love even if they don't reciprocate) to remind you of all the good things that are still here and worth hanging around for.

Wednesday, December 06, 2006

The Boyfriend

I took Mom to see the house last night. She got all teary and blathered about how proud of me she was and stuff. I suppose all moms do that, even if you are a shithead. Are mothers proud of their children if they deal in meth? Only if they successfully cook it without blowing the house up, I suspect.

Mom talked a little more about "boyfriend" as I have come to think of him. Because the story of "the boyfriend" is so amusing to me, I have to share. I swear, I can't make this stuff up.

Mom met "boyfriend" while they were working together, but he no longer works where she is working. Instead he works for another company that sends him to other countries as part of his job...but that is neither here nor there. However, if I catch wind that he's going to Germany, I'm giving him a list which includes chocolate, coffee, and Haribo gummi bears (yes, I know I can get them here, but they are not the me).

Boyfriend is in his 50's. I knew he had four sons, all of which who were gay. However, I didn't know that those four sons were part of the cumulative eleven children that this man has sired. Eleven. He's not Mormon, and he's not Catholic. He's just not wise to the advances of birth control.

Perhaps the most amusing part is the story of the gay sons. Two sets of twins, they are. Boyfriend is also a twin. At the age of sixteen, he goes to some Twin Convention and hooks up with a girl there (also a twin). The product of their night of passion produces twin set #1.

The following year, boyfriend returns to the Twin Convention and hooks up with the twin sister of the girl he hooked up with the year before. End result = twin set #2.

So, you've got two sets of twins. Half-brothers, as well as cousins. I bet that was a really fooked up family day at school. It almost sounds like a bad Ray Stevens song.

Boyfriend is currently in the process of a divorce, which is interesting because so is my mother. For a relationship to work, you must have things in common, I guess.

If Mom marries this one, it will be her third marriage and his fifth. I suppose the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree. My grandmother was married at least three times, maybe four, and produced six children. I'm going to have to lay claim to my father's genetics on this matter. While his side of the family are raging alcoholics, most of them are still married to the original spouse. Maybe that's why they drink so much.

As for me, I only plan on doing it once. I figure that if I marry later in life, I can at least croak from old age before the word divorce has the chance to be uttered.

Tuesday, December 05, 2006

Getting the House Ready

I got up early yesterday despite being tired. I have a lot to do and a relatively short amount of time to do it in.

So, I got up and loaded the car with some boxes...and the dog. We took off to the house where I unloaded the car while the dog went apeshit in his new space. However, I did note that Sam doesn't fare well on hardwood floors. Not at all. He was sliding everywhere, falling over. It was pretty funny. I let him out into the back yard where he proceeded to do things I've only seen Michael Flatley do...preening, leaping and prancing. He would run in circles, then throw himself into a snow drift.

After a while, I went to Lowes and proceeded to purchase everything I needed (or thought I needed) to start painting. I decided to start with my bedroom and purchased paint in a lovely, and aesthetically pleasing shade of green. I also had to buy a can of primer to help cover that nasty "goldenrod tea" color that currently is gracing the halls of the bedroom. The can I found in the closet read "goldenrod tea". I call it "baby poop yellow".

I also started buying some essential tools (wrench, pliers, hammer, etc) for my new house, as well as a nifty project ladder, and new inards for the toilet in the master bathroom because it takes an hour for the tank to fill and never stops running.

Today, I took all my purchases, in addition to some boxes, to the new house where I unceremoniously dropped a full gallon can of Fiji green paint on my left foot.


I taped off the bedroom and primed it. The whole thing. Today. My arms hurt, my legs hurt. I hurt, and I am exhausted. Who knew painting was such tough work? My bedroom is now a lovely shade of seafoam green, and tomorrow I will paint it it's permanent shade.

As an encore, I returned to Lowes and found a new ceiling fan, some electric outlet covers in brushed nickel, and a pair of awesome mahogany bamboo shades for the windows. I'm so excited. My bedroom is going to be, for lack of a better term, the shit.

But I have decided that I don't care much for painting.

On a side note, I cannot figure out how to light the hot water heater. I followed the instructions on the side of the tank, but it didn't work. There must be a gas valve somewhere that is turned off, but fear not, someone is coming over tomorrow to light it for me. I don't want to mess with it too much.

I have an aversion to being blown up.

Saturday, December 02, 2006

Fame Whore(s) Alert!

Not really a newsflash, I know.

I remembered how the world rejoiced when Britney announced she was kicking Fed-Ex to the curb. Even those who hated her, were secretly relieved and rooting for a kick-ass comeback. Everyone loves it when the underdog comes out on top.
If this is Britney's way of blazing on the comeback trail, she needs to hire a new PR manager.
And Lindsay Lohan, too? The three of them together is like watching a cracked-out, estrogen-infused version of The Three Stooges. Considering none of the three actually have any discernible talent (aside from showing their community poon to the world), I'd be remiss if I didn't agree that at least they are in shared company.
After all, water does find it's own level.
I don't think I've been this nauseated since I ate my cousin's nasty homemade chicken noodle soup...and that was some serious projectile vomiting, people!
The only way it could possibly get worse is if they decided to collaborate on music together. I shudder at the mere thought of it.
So, can we please round these, ahem, splooge buckets and send them far, far away. Iraq sounds nice. Put them right in central Bagdad wearing nothing but red, white and blue.
Who would ever guess that K-Fed would turn out to be the classy one...