Have I mentioned that we bought a house?

what's up chicken butts? 

This shit is harder than I remember and I think that's pretty obvious based on what I resorted to for an opening sentence for my first post since March.  My apologies.  I haven't written much more than work related emails and drippy Facebook posts for several months.

I'll cut to the chase and dive right into a numbered list of things that are up my chicken butt:

1.  We bought a house. 

It's your standard Texas-style stone and brick, brown suburban house.  Some might call it cookie-cutter, and I might tell them to go fuck themselves because I've been living out of goddamn boxes for the past 3 years and that's a tiring way to live after awhile.

The house is entirely bigger than anything we'd ever need.  We feel a bit silly since it's just the two of us and a cat, but we chose this particular model with my mother in law in mind, because there are 2 master suites on the first floor, so she could come stay with us for extended visits and never have to climb any stairs.  I love my mother in law.

2.  The woman who sold us this house is a leathery piece of shit and I hope that I never have to communicate with her again after we close or as long as I live, whichever comes first.

She looks about 800 years old, smokes electric cigarettes in the model home where her office is, and seems to think nobody will notice the smell.  She has a tall, teased out Ladybird Johnson style hairdo and wears neon colored suits and turquoise jewelry.  These things are all fine.  In fact when I first met her I thought she was a hoot.  Get a load of this old broad!

You go 800 year old lady!  Go ahead and smoke your electric cigs in public.  Go ahead, be leathery and have cotton candy on your head and call it hair.  What do I care? 

Good for you for somehow figuring out how to embalm yourself while still alive by using a combination of Aquanet, nicotine and Hawaiian Tropic spf 8.  Way to go Leatherybird Johnson.

But don't lie to me through your dentures and get my hopes all up about what the builder can and can't do for us, you sack of shit.  And that is all I have to say about that.

3.  I'm still working from home and haven't lost my fucking mind completely. 

Not completely, although it is quite maddening from time to time. 

The longer I do it the more clear it has become that although the policies at my company are very open to work from home situations and remote employees like myself, the policies and technology used by the IT department (which is also my department btw) to support us... is ummm not designed to support us at all. 

My laptop died recently and it took 1 full week for them to figure out what to do about it.  I had to ship it to them.  Bullshit.  Then I had to wait another full week after I shipped it for them to ship it back to me.  Also bullshit.  They wouldn't ship it directly to my home, because the policy says it has to be shipped a corporate recognized branch office.  Bullshit.  Bullshit.  Bullshit.

So I ended up going half the month not being able to accomplish much of anything.  I could work remotely using (a remote system of logging in that rhymes with) Bitfrix from my home computer, but the connections are so slow and sketchy that the best outcome of this story is that I didn't slit my wrists when it took me an over hour and half to send out an email with an attachment. 

I didn't kill myself, but I cried a lot.  Like, a LOT.  As in, it's been several weeks and my face is still a bit blotchy.

It's also a bummer as a remote employee to constantly get sent group invitations to lunch meetings, potlucks and having to respond to meeting invitations by asking for a call-in number.

4.  Did I mention that we bought a house?  We finally bought a fucking house!!!  Motherfuckin' A, man!!  I don't have to feel terrible for hating my upstairs neighbors and their goddamn barking dogs and anvil footed children who seemingly do nothing but run back and forth across my ceiling all night and wake up screaming bloody murder every morning and carry on all day running around and screaming and tossing toys and shit off the balcony.  Oh dear Llyod in heaven how I loathe them.

5.  I'm stressed out because we bought a house.  We're moving again for the 6th time in 11 years.  We still have that horrid house in Michigan that is still under water.  We had a tenant, but had to evict him because he was regularly 4 months behind on the rent.  Now the property management company has told us that no one will lease it out because the kitchen needs remodeled.  So we're in the process of remodeling a kitchen long distance. IT'S ALL TOO MUCH TO TAKE!!!!!

6.  I'm a bit consumed with the new house.

Anyhoo... that's it.  This is all I can manage for now.

I'm out of practice wrapping up blog posts into tidy packages with bows and ribbons like I used to do.  Besides, where the fuck is my scotch tape?  I can't find anything around here so I sure as hell can't find any ribbon.  Get out out of here.  This post is over.

(I love you.)

A Very Long Meme Just for You

My back is out again. Two times in less than 4 weeks. I'm scared people. I've finally found a doctor and I'm going to make an appointment today (no worries).

Anyhoo... I'm feeling good enough to sit in my office chair today and complete this meme that I found at Untitled Blogger Project (I've been lurking over there for awhile and have finally added him to my blog roll) who in turn got it from A World So Small. The woman who writes A World So Small is English (I assume) so I had to translate some parts of the meme (pounds to dollars, favourite to favorite, etc..) to American to avoid any confusion. Those whacky Brits and the rest of the English speaking world outside the US of A and their crazy spellings!

What is your current obsession?
Oddly enough considering that last paragraph, I am recently obsessed with anything having to do with Charles Dickens. I blame Masterpiece Classic. They’ve given us the most amazing version of Oliver Twist that I cannot imagine will ever be topped with Timothy Spall as a most sympathetic Fagin. They’ve replayed the version of David Copperfield from several years back (starring the adorable Daniel Radcliffe) and given us Little Dorrit. I’d never read Little Dorrit so I was waiting for each new episode with giggling glee.

This week it’s The Old Curiosity Shop, which I have also never read and know almost nothing about. I recorded the first episode on the DVR last night, but sadly must wait until next week when MDH comes home from Texas as I have infected him with the Dickens obsession now too and he would be very upset if I watched it without him.

What is your weirdest obsession?
See above… but MDH would probably tell you my weirdest obsession is The Sims. Speaking of which, The Sims 3 releases next month. I'm giddy.

What are you wearing today?
An old, faded Mickey Mouse t-shirt, black stretchy pants and my most comfy slippers. It’s a stay home from work with back pain outfit.

What's for dinner today?
I don’t even care. I’m home alone, MDH is conveniently out of town and my back hurts again, so I’ll just take whatever looks good that’s in reach, cram it into my mouth and start chewing. The cat had better stay clear away.

Why is today special?
I am able to stand up straight without grimacing for the first time since Friday and I found a new doctor.

What would you like to learn to do?
Play bluegrass fiddle.

What languages can you speak?
English and I know enough French to avoid ordering organs and innards in restaurants. I don’t care how artful and lovingly kidneys or intestines are prepared, I don’t want to put them in my mouth.

What are you listening to right now?
The fan on my computer humming and birdies chirping outside the window.

What is your favorite weather?
When there is a bit of coolness in the air, like early mornings in the summer. Jacket weather. Today.

What is your most challenging goal right now?
Trying to maintain my self-esteem and a positive attitude after not getting the jobs I wanted (and deserved).

What do you think about the person who tagged you?
Well, I tagged myself didn't I? So I’ll say adorable and back pain-tastic.

If you could have a house totally paid for, fully furnished, anywhere in the world, where would you like it be?
Fourth Street, Victorian Village in Columbus Ohio. I like to dream big. It’s only a few blocks over from where we used to live. I always liked the houses on that street, a wee bit fancier than ours. The location is perfect. Off street parking, walking distance to the Short North, close to the park, close to the highway, close to all my good friends that I love and miss so much. (That picture is from the front porch of our old house in Vic Village).

What would you like to have in your hands right now?
A grilled cheese and tomato sandwich.

What would you like to get rid of?
I’ve already bitched out it on this blog several times – our hot tub. It’s an unsightly disgrace and a blight on our back yard.

If you could go anywhere in the world for the next hour, where would you go?
You know, I’m pretty happy right here at home in my office. Here I go, dreaming big again. I’ve got the blinds thrown all the way open and I can see our beautiful back yard (the hot tub is out of view from here). Turtle is lounging in the open window (and yes, I opened it myself - the office window is easy), looking so regal, and I can hear birdies chirping. What else could I ask for?

Which language do you want to learn?
Portuguese. I love that “shush, shush” sound that they have at the end of so many of their words. It’s soft and sexy.

What do you look for in a friend?
I know it when I see it. Mainly though, I look for a certain kind of knowing appreciation for the ridiculous. I have to be able to laugh with my friends.

Who do you want to meet in person?
I would love to go to a mixer featuring all of the people who write the blogs on my blog roll. And Laird Hamilton.

What's your favorite type of music?
I like almost all types of music as long as it is genuine and required a modicum of talent to create. My current “most recently played” list on my iPod features Charles Mingus, Diana Krall, New Order and Joy Division pretty heavily.

What's the favorite piece of clothing in your own closet?
My new jeans. I just got them back from the tailor (of course) and they are perfect in every way.

What is your dream job?
In real life I’d like to be a Project Manager or Training Manager.

In fantasy land I’d be a Therapist or an Advice Columnist.

Any favorite models?
Fuck no. I think it’s idiotic and totally insane that people are famous and worshipped to the degree that they are just for being nice to look at. Do something else.

If you had $100 now, what would you spend it on?
A new spine.

Favorite designer?
Karl Lagerfeld

Fashion pet peeve?
The list is long (and so is this meme! hello? are you still reading this?), but here are some top contenders:


1. Fake tans by themselves are bad enough, but I especially hate them when combined with fashion pet peeve #2.


2. People who have freakishly overly whitened teeth. You look like a clown. A scary clown.

3. Muffin top. Nobody wants to see your gut hanging out.

4. That messy, uncombed hairstyle on regular men. I'm speaking to you co-worker. You are not handsome enough to pass this off. Unless you are David Beckham (and you are not) then messy, uncombed hair, no matter how much product you use, makes you look like you just escaped from the loony hatch.


5. I firmly believe that the faux-hawk is the mullet of the new millenium. It's over guys. Stop it.

Do you admire anyone's style?
My blogger friend WendyB. She posts lots of pictures of herself (she won the coveted Drysdale Award last year in the category of "Blog with the Most Pictures of the Blogger") at glamorous parties and locales. Somehow she always looks completely different, but always, always looks beautiful and the epitome of stylish.

Describe your personal style:
Tailored. I’m significantly overweight (it’s the truth, I’m just being honest, not self depreciating), so I like to make sure that my clothes fit properly and that (in public at least) I look put together at all times. I take a lot of my clothes to be tailored to make sure I get the best fit possible. My worst fear (fashion-wise I mean, my actual worst fear is a tie between being trampled to death in a large crowd of people and having all of my teeth fall out) would be that someone would describe me as looking “sloppy”.

The Great Indoors

Earlier this week I was trying to catch up with some of my blog peeps and came across this camping meme that Tara over at Eclectic Spaghetti had done awhile back. She didn't tag me or anything, but I started mentally answering the questions and decided I'd go ahead and start typing.

1. When did you last sleep in a tent?

In 1976. I was 9 years old and attending a Parents Without Partners camping event with my then best friend Blondie and her single-in-the-swinging 1970's mom "Ginger". Ginger was a mom, but she was also a stone fox and part of the reason I decided at such a young age that getting married was for the birds. Ginger had all the men at camp (divorced, embittered, balding and be-paunched though they were) wrapped around her little finger.

I seem to have wandered off on a tangent here. Where was I ? Oh yes... sleeping in a tent. It sucked donkey balls. The ground was hard and damp and I didn't sleep a wink all night and when I complained everyone made fun of me, called me a baby and seemed to make extra effort to flip my canoe.

2. What comes to mind when you think about relieving yourself in the great outdoors?

Constipation.

Having established myself as the pansy, complaining, non-camping puss in the group, the children of the un-partnered parents (who BTW were pretty busy ignoring their already disenfranchised progeny while they tried to get laid and score Quaaludes) thought it was a laugh riot to sneak up on me and push me to the ground every time I tried to pee in the bushes. As a result I spent the entire weekend bathed in streams of my own urine. (In retrospect, maybe that explains my frequent canoe flips. I probably stunk to high heaven and they were trying to give me a cleansing rinse.)

At this point I had resigned myself to cramping and abdominal distention because if I was unable to even pee in peace then forget about trying to have a bowel movement. I would rather have died. Maybe I would have too had the PWP camping trip been any longer than 3 days. Anyhoo... I decided then and there that I would never attempt to shit in the woods again.

3. Where’s the best place you ever went camping?

A diamond suite at Caesar's Palace, Las Vegas.

4. What’s your favorite camp food?

Those little pies you make with slices of bread you squish together with an iron you put on the fire. My family called them Whoopee Pies.

5. What’s your sleeping bag like?

It's Italian, round and furry and about 6'2.

A Helpful Hint from Amy - The Cool Paper Towel

School started last week and although I'm not a teacher, most of my friends are teachers. Did I ever mention that my best friend Amy teaches the 2nd grade? Yes she does. Did I ever mention that my best friend Amy is brilliant? Yes she is.

One of my favorite works of her genius is this:

She keeps a little mini fridge in her class room filled with diet cokes and a life time supply of water-soaked paper towels tidily folded up and individually sealed in snack-size zip lock baggies.

Do you know how many snot dripping, red faced, sniffling, crying jags occur in the daily lives of 2nd graders? Well, I'll tell you, it's a lot. Bumps, bruises, scrapes, headaches, loose teeth, name calling, hair pulling, pants peeing, booger eating - no matter what your problem may be it can all be taken care of by the soothing relief of a cool, wet paper towel.

Amy always says it really fast too - Go get a coolpapertowel and sit down. The smeary red-faced child person goes to the mini-fridge and gets his or her own cool paper towel. Sometimes they even tell her when they might need one.

Mrs. Amy I'm very upset. I think I need a coolpapertowel.

I would like to state for the record that the cool paper towel works on children older than the 2nd grade also. Like 41 year old ladies who have had a bad day at work only to come home and find the kitchen sink full of dirty dishes so that she has to work all goddamn day and then clean up the damn kitchen before she can fix dinner, and clean up the kitchen yet again before bed. I think I need a cool paper towel.

Yesterday there were lots of cool paper towels getting tossed around at my house after my husband, who had started off the day sticking to the original plan of renting one of those Rug Doctors from the grocery store, ended up ripping out all of the carpet in our living room, dining room and hallways.

This is something that I have wanted to do from the minute we first walked in the door of this house, but MDH has always held back because hardwood floor restoration is in our home ownership fear zone, along with pretty much any home improvement project that goes beyond spackling or painting.

Needless to say there was some drama, but as you can see, it's a bit too late to turn back.

I'm not sure we have the skills to refinish this floor properly because it has some pretty bad stains in the wood, and I'm fairly certain that we do not have the money to pay someone else to do it.

Even scarier, MDH, in a similar fit of reckless impulse to the one that caused him to go from cleaning the carpet to tearing at it like a wild animal, decided to call in his brother Miami to see if he could come up and do the floor for us.

Bad. Idea.

Yes. Miami is by trade a concrete foreman and tends to work on high rise buildings, but started off as a carpenter and general contractor, so he knows how to refinish a floor.

He is also a roaring drunk.

Several years ago he nearly ruined the office of our old house when MDH asked him to make us some built in book shelves. Miami was all disciplined and lovely the first 2 days, but after that I'm not sure what happened, but I do know that he discovered the bar down the street kept Valpolicella in stock, and after that the job was rather untidily abandoned. He claimed it was complete, but I ended up hiring someone to come in to fix nearly everything he had done.

The thought of him coming here and attempting to take on our floors makes me need a coolpapertowl. Maybe five.

Even Turtle needs a cool paper towel after this...

Bringing Home the Bacon, Smacking You With the Pan

Well hello stranger.

I temporarily dropped off the face of the earth, blog wise, while I have been adjusting to my new lifestyle juggling dual careers as a full time cubicle dweller and full time nurse maid for a perfectly competent and healthy 44 year old man.

My husband has become quite spoiled over these past several months of my unemployment, during which time I willingly chose to take over all of the household chores as a trade off to not contributing to the family coffers. As a result, now that I have rejoined the workforce my darling has apparently forgotten the meaning of the key words from our marriage vows "equal partnership". His memory has also slipped about such things as how to unload the dishwasher, run the sweeper, and scoop the litter box.

I reached the end of my rope as well as the end of my nursemaid career last night when he put an empty soda can on the counter directly above the recycle bin. Then he neatly wrapped the last slice of pizza in aluminum foil, placed it gently into the refrigerator, and walked away. Leaving the empty, opened pizza box on the kitchen counter and went to bed.

I'm not a very confrontational kind of person, especially when I'm angry. I'm more of a stew for awhile and think things over so that I don't say something that I regret later kind of a person. So even though I wanted to shove the pizza box and soda can up his ass, I left them where they were and went to bed too.

Saturday afternoon I asked him to sweep the living room, den and dining room. It is now Thursday and he hasn't even asked me where the vacuum cleaner is.

It's my fault.

And my mother's fault, and her mother's fault and every woman before us. I was raised to mollycoddle men, to cook and clean for them without complaint. I'm a housewife at heart. I actually LIKE doing most of this stuff, but a lady gets tired of doing it all - ALL THE TIME.

After I hit the publish button here, I'm making a chore list.

Let's just see how that flies.

Picture at top: See what I mean??? A toy vacuum cleaner at age 3. I also had a toy iron, toy mops and brooms, toy pots and pans and look at me now. I'm like fuckin' Hazel over here. If Hazel were a housekeeper AND on a data management project team.

Adventures in Phobia Part 1

My husband is always scheming and plotting travels. So much so that he has instructed me, in the case of his sudden death or coma to immediately go to the Marriot resorts website and cancel the multiple dream reservations he has made.

Currently we have reservations for 2008 in Bali, Turks & Caicos, Ireland and a Celebrity Cruise to Alaska, and these are only the ones I know about. I'm sure there are many more. The man likes to plan trips in the way that other people like to spend imaginary lottery winnings.

I'm not certain that any of our 2008 dream travel plans will come to fruition. Maybe one or two of them, but who can say? We usually go on one big vacation and several smaller, long weekend trips every year. We aren't rich, except in love, and our income has been cut by a third since I haven't been working.

Anyhoo... In the short time that we have known each other I've been to more places than I ever dreamed possible.

This time last year I was getting the house in order and the laundry ready for 8 days in Maui. It was our second time to Hawaii together and his third (he took his mother several years ago before we met). The vacation was fantastic. We hiked and snorkeled, we watched every sunrise and sunset together, laid on the beach when we were tired, and went on two whale watches. We had learned a lot on our first trip to Hawaii about what not to do.

Our first time to Hawaii together in 2005, we went on a cruise and made two huge mistakes. First of all, we went on a cruise. Hello? What the hell were we thinking? Cruises are teeming with annoyances - like e-coli and thousands of other people you are forced to wait in line behind. We also tried to squeeze in as much adventure shore excursions as possible, forgetting that we are both middle-aged and quite fat, and also that I am afraid of heights, deep water and don't like to get dirty.

The brochures the cruise company kept sending us, in the months leading up to our big adventure, displayed dazzling color photos of tanned, athletic and ecstatic looking older people, zip lining across forest canopies, surfing, sea kayaking, cliff diving and riding a mountain bikes down mountainous volcanos. These brochures made it seem like we'd be crazy not to try these things.

We couldn't afford to do them all so we settled on four, two of which were activities that we considered to be "once in a lifetime" opportunities (to maim and/or kill ourselves in painful and frightening ways).

Maui Downhill Cycle Adventure (from the NCL Shore Excusion Catalog):
Take the downhill bicycle ride of your life as you bike down Haleakala Volcano. Enjoy your beautiful surroundings as you travel at speeds up to 20 miles per hour through some of the most unique parts of Maui. Your adventure begins with a van ride to the summit and will end at the Sunrise Market and Protea Farm. You'll be escorted by an expert volcano guide, and followed by an escort van. Note: Participants must be at least 12 years of age, at least 5 feet tall and weigh no more than 250 lbs. Pregnant women are prohibited from this excursion. Bring a sweatshirt as temperatures can be cool at the summit and wear closed-toe shoes. This tour is not for beginners.

We rode to the summit via the narrow and twisting volcano road in one of those 15 passenger church-type vans that always seem to be crashing, while filled to capacity with student athletes, church choirs, or marching bands, on the way to important competitions, tragically killing everyone on board. It was the one exception I have made to my rule of never riding in one of these vans.

Along the way our guide, who called everyone "Bra" or "Cousin", entertained us with not so hilarious stories of downhill cycling adventures gone wrong as he pointed out the various spots where previous idiots had been seriously injured or killed on long ride down. I'm sure he meant this as a way to pass the time, give us safety tips and teach us about what not to do. It did nothing but scare the bejeezus of me and about halfway up I began to panic and as the air became thinner and thinner I also became light headed and lost my ability to breathe.

I laughed it off as the motion sickness I sometimes get if I'm not able to see out the window of moving vehicles. But when I looked out the window of the van, all I could see was the edge of volcanic insanity and it was a very long way down. Better to be nauseous I thought, so I kept my eyes in the van.

In for a penny, in for a pound. There was no turning back. There was nowhere to go but down. On a bike. In the rain. Toward oncoming traffic on a narrow, twisting, 2-lane volcano road with very few guardrails.

I kept reassuring MDH that I was fine and this was a great idea and that we were going to have so much fun and that I was really more excited than frightened.

I lied.

Did I mention that it was raining to beat the band and the air was choked with fog?

When we got to the drop off point at the top I hopped unsteadily off the van and put on the helmet, goggles and giant yellow rubber pancho and matching pants we had been given to wear for the ride down. The clear plastic goggles fogged up immediately and I couldn't see a thing. It was like wearing a body bag with metal trash can for a hat.

All my discomfort, dizziness and lack of oxygen melted away temporarily when I took a deep breath, walked few steps to join the rest of our group and fainted for the first time in my entire life. It was the most relaxed I had been all morning.

This caused everyone to freak out, especially my darling. Apparently I wasn't the only one with reservations about this shore excursion who had been hiding light headedness and panic. The driver and guide gathered the group and we all voted unanimously to retreat and all hopped eagerly back onto the church van and headed back down the mountain to safety and sanity. They even refunded our money.

MDH and I counted it as a free day and went back to the ship and celebrated our new found appreciation of a life well-lived in spite of not facing danger in the eye, with a few fruity cocktails at the bar followed by the good kind of "nap" back in our cabin.

When we went back to Maui last year we would occasionally see van loads of hopeful bikers riding to the top of the mountain and thanked our lucky stars that it rained and I had passed out. It's good to be old, fat, alive and unharmed.

See you at the bottom, suckers!