C.L. Bevill's Blog, page 17
June 14, 2012
Hey YOU! Yes YOU! Feed My Stinking Fish!
I know. I'm in the no-blog zone. But my fish need feeding. My sister tells me that's the main reason she comes to look at my blog, to feed my fish. Apparently the little fishies amuse her in a way that my sarcastic, literary style does not. Also my MIL told me she reads my blog nowadays but she does not feed my fish. I need to put a new gadget up.
Also a reminder. I'm in the middle of moving. My brain has pretty much packed itself up and went buh-bye. I think it said something about the Bahamas and a drink called a Screaming Red Zombie. (That's not related to a Screaming Blue Viking and you have to yell, "Brains!" when you drink it. Believe it or not, Red Robin (YUM!) introduced me to the Screaming Red Zombie after I was forced to sit through a 3 hour dance recital in which our only daughter was on stage for a maximum of four minutes. I think my butt is still stuck to that seat in the auditorium.)
Although I'm non-blogging, I seem to be blogging. It's very strange. I can't stop.
Anyhoo, my house is a disaster area, money is flowing out in a disproportional rate, and I can't find anything. As I've said before, moving sucks. The packers are coming tomorrow to do twisted things to our belongings. I had to hide all the good stuff.
This is what I picture happening when they load up all of our crap.
Picture by Drew Francis. See here.That's all I've got for now. I must go and chase down my daughter's moron cat and put his collar on him so that he'll be used to it for the long drive down there. Wow. What fun. Me, HIM, my daughter, and the moron cat in an explorer for 12 to 14 hours. Hahaha. Wonder if I can stock up on straight-jackets early.
Also a reminder. I'm in the middle of moving. My brain has pretty much packed itself up and went buh-bye. I think it said something about the Bahamas and a drink called a Screaming Red Zombie. (That's not related to a Screaming Blue Viking and you have to yell, "Brains!" when you drink it. Believe it or not, Red Robin (YUM!) introduced me to the Screaming Red Zombie after I was forced to sit through a 3 hour dance recital in which our only daughter was on stage for a maximum of four minutes. I think my butt is still stuck to that seat in the auditorium.)
Although I'm non-blogging, I seem to be blogging. It's very strange. I can't stop.
Anyhoo, my house is a disaster area, money is flowing out in a disproportional rate, and I can't find anything. As I've said before, moving sucks. The packers are coming tomorrow to do twisted things to our belongings. I had to hide all the good stuff.
This is what I picture happening when they load up all of our crap.Picture by Drew Francis. See here.That's all I've got for now. I must go and chase down my daughter's moron cat and put his collar on him so that he'll be used to it for the long drive down there. Wow. What fun. Me, HIM, my daughter, and the moron cat in an explorer for 12 to 14 hours. Hahaha. Wonder if I can stock up on straight-jackets early.
June 11, 2012
More Amazing Blogs You Might Have Missed OR Look, I'm Not Really Blogging, But I AM!
In my last unblog (that's sort of like an unbirthday, thank you Lewis Carrol) I mentioned some of my favorite blogs. But also there's more! More! More! More!
In The Stupidest Man Ever I systematically rip through a stranger's psyche for being too stupid to know where ham and bacon come from. You might not believe it but this man was that dumb. He's dumber than my daughter's moron cat. I swear the cat just meowed at me in protest. Perhaps he's not that stupid. Naw.
But wait, I felt like maligning my daughter's pediatrician in The Mystery of the Funky Green Poop. Well, the doctor did ask for it, so did the nurse for that matter. But who can resist the title? It's a mystery AND it's funky and green. How can you go wrong with that?
And who can resist The Underwire Bra - Wonder or Horrific Implement of a Vindictive Man? I don't care for the illustrations in this earlier (think stone age) blog, but the story is hilarious. One day someone is going to die by underwire bra in one of my novels and you'll know exactly how I came up with the idea!
Finally, for your reading hilarity there's SUPER Deodorant Power! Or How Advertising Has Attained the Level of Ludicrosity! I probably made up a word, but hell I make up all kinds of things so making up a word seems insignificant in comparison.
So while all you wonderful people are reading, or rereading as the case may be, these older blogs, and giggling your collective tushies off, I will be huddled in a corner sucking my thumb because my brain has imploded on account of the whole horrendous moving process. (Wow. Run on sentence and I wasn't even trying.) Have fun!
June 7, 2012
Blogs You Might of Missed OR Hey, Read This!
I was thinking, which usually gets me arrested, in trouble, or shunned, and it occurs to me that I've got tons of blogs and many of you might not have read some of them. (Gasp! How could you?) Allow me to recommend my absolute favs, in no particular order.
Rats! No, Really Rats! Or How I Will Always Hold it Against the Pest Control Guy. Hey, the title speaks for itself. We had rats. We had cats. We did not have Dr. Seuss or bats. Hilarity ensued.
On Having a Daughter Or Don't Stare Luridly at My Child OR I Might be Oversensitive on This Issue. What happens to my brain when some little male pipsqueak chats up my daughter with an offer of a "diamond." Sarcastic hilarity (after the fact) ensued.
Him Had Surgery OR How This Day Got Progressively Weirder! The adventures of Fat Woman and Pain in the Ass Man as they explore the wide wonderful world of surgery at a VA hospital. After dealing with a GPS unit with a New Zealand accent and Washington DC traffic, the people at the VA seem really normal. Not. Hilarity ensued well after I got HIM home and had a drink. (It might have been two drinks.)
The Origin of Zombies OR How We Must Never Drive Past Graveyards at Night. Never let it be said that I don't listen to my daughter's stories about zombies. Not only do I listen to them but I steal them for blog material, with proper acknowledgement, of course.
There. That should keep you busy for about twenty minutes.
June 6, 2012
New Book Out! OR Look I Published Arcanorum!
Okay. I know I said I wouldn't blog, but I did need to get the word out, after writing for a few months, having the proofreader/editor work on it, and finding a new formatting person, here it is:
Here's the description:
Jane is a woman without a past. She wakes up in the back of a car with handcuffs on her wrists, with a man intent on doing her harm. She escapes, but into the murky underworld of New Orleans. A mysterious man shadows her and strange memories tantalize her. People want to hurt her and an unearthly creature stalks the night. Insanity might be a possibility but everything is horrifyingly real. This sultry world is anything but ordinary. Instead it is full of black magics and curious beasts and the thoughts of a man who can read Jane’s mind.
Jane must solve the mystery of who she is or be forever lost. Book 3 of the Lake People series.
Find it here on Amazon.
Find it here on B&N.
Find it here on Smashwords.
Don't forget you can gift ebooks on Amazon, B&N, and Smashwords.
Happy reading, ya'll!
Here's the description:
Jane is a woman without a past. She wakes up in the back of a car with handcuffs on her wrists, with a man intent on doing her harm. She escapes, but into the murky underworld of New Orleans. A mysterious man shadows her and strange memories tantalize her. People want to hurt her and an unearthly creature stalks the night. Insanity might be a possibility but everything is horrifyingly real. This sultry world is anything but ordinary. Instead it is full of black magics and curious beasts and the thoughts of a man who can read Jane’s mind.
Jane must solve the mystery of who she is or be forever lost. Book 3 of the Lake People series.
Find it here on Amazon.
Find it here on B&N.
Find it here on Smashwords.
Don't forget you can gift ebooks on Amazon, B&N, and Smashwords.
Happy reading, ya'll!
June 4, 2012
Confessions of a Highly Manic Fat Woman's Moving Experiences
To anyone who reads the blog, it comes as no surprise that I'm in the middle of moving lock, stock, and barrel to Alabama, where I will be reanimated as Super Fat Woman. No, wait, make that *SUPER FAT WOMAN!!!* (Wait, already on a tangent. Imagining myself as completely rejuvenated after my move and eventual unpacking. Probably not going to happen.)
So consequently in an effort to maintain my sanity, I'm taking a blog break for a few weeks. Not sure when the computer will go offline, probably on the 15th and won't come back on until the next week.
I will, however, try to post when Arcanorum: A Lake People Novel comes up at the end of next week. (Knock on wood. Hell, find a forest and start hitting each tree. I'm going to need the luck.)
I will still answer email and Facebook so I won't be completely off the grid.
In the immortal words of Ahh-norld, "I will be back."
So consequently in an effort to maintain my sanity, I'm taking a blog break for a few weeks. Not sure when the computer will go offline, probably on the 15th and won't come back on until the next week.
I will, however, try to post when Arcanorum: A Lake People Novel comes up at the end of next week. (Knock on wood. Hell, find a forest and start hitting each tree. I'm going to need the luck.)
I will still answer email and Facebook so I won't be completely off the grid.
In the immortal words of Ahh-norld, "I will be back."
May 31, 2012
The Secretive Saga of the Lost Keys OR the Cat Done Did IT! OR Did He?
Recently, amidst all of the moving anguish, I lost my car keys. I had driven home with them, so somewhere between the garage and the kitchen they vanished. Mildly irritated, I began to search. The debris of sorting through everything in the house and taking all the items off the walls has left our home in a sort of mid-move limbo, whereupon we merely get to use the bed and make trails through all of the stuff on the floors. I wanted to make a junk angel in the debris, but I was shot down by Cressy who said, "That would hurt. Something will stick in your popo, Mommy." (I love my daughter and her way of cutting right to a point.)
I thought about what I had done with the keys. I searched the car, the kitchen, and the garage before I started spreading out. Pretty soon I was ready to shake down the neighbors, HIM, and anyone who had been anywhere near the vicinity in the last ten years. (If you knocked on my door on Sunday, that's why I was talking about a polygraph test.) No keys.
After crying, throwing a temper tantrum, (Cressy brought me a tissue box and said she found my patience), looking at the Internet to see how much a stupid Ford key was going to cost me (OMG, you should see what they charge for a frickin' key!), I gave up and went to bed. (Cressy asked me what I was going to dream about and I said, "Finding my keys." She said, "I'm dreaming about the sprinkler party next Saturday." Oh, those priorities.)
The next morning, HIM called up to deliver his theory on the missing keys. I was, shall we say, less than receptive. But on the good side, it made for a whole blog, so WTH? Okay, take a deep breath and ready yourself for it. It's coming right now. HIM said, "Have you considered that the cat might have taken the keys?" And he was completely serious.
I love HIM. HIM is a smart guy. HIM has moments of brilliance that astound me. That question/bleeping thing he said was not one of those moments. I believe I couldn't speak for a moment after he made the observation/accusation. I wondered, in the 2.3 seconds of lucidity that remained at that point in time, what he thought I would do with the cat, if the cat were indeed the culprit. After I calmed down, some funny shizz popped into my head, which happens more than I'm willing to admit to most people other than my psychiatrist. Out comes the bamboo pad.
That's a police spotlight on Megaroy, my daughter's moron cat,
in case my illustration is less than self-explanatory.But I couldn't stop.
Really, I couldn't.
It was like I was compelled.
Yes, I misspelled a word. Funny thing, there's no spell check
on hand writing. (Well, there's the dictionary, but where's
the fun in that?)Someone should name a new mental disorder after me.
I'm so wrong but I can't help myself.
It just kept happening.
There. Now I'm finished haranguing HIM, and to a lesser extent the moron cat.
And for closure, the keys were under the stool in the kitchen, right where I'd dropped them, in my scramble to get the sprinkler ready for outdoor hot-weather watery funness for our daughter. I hate the keys now. It would have been funnier if the cat had stolen them.
I thought about what I had done with the keys. I searched the car, the kitchen, and the garage before I started spreading out. Pretty soon I was ready to shake down the neighbors, HIM, and anyone who had been anywhere near the vicinity in the last ten years. (If you knocked on my door on Sunday, that's why I was talking about a polygraph test.) No keys.
After crying, throwing a temper tantrum, (Cressy brought me a tissue box and said she found my patience), looking at the Internet to see how much a stupid Ford key was going to cost me (OMG, you should see what they charge for a frickin' key!), I gave up and went to bed. (Cressy asked me what I was going to dream about and I said, "Finding my keys." She said, "I'm dreaming about the sprinkler party next Saturday." Oh, those priorities.)
The next morning, HIM called up to deliver his theory on the missing keys. I was, shall we say, less than receptive. But on the good side, it made for a whole blog, so WTH? Okay, take a deep breath and ready yourself for it. It's coming right now. HIM said, "Have you considered that the cat might have taken the keys?" And he was completely serious.
I love HIM. HIM is a smart guy. HIM has moments of brilliance that astound me. That question/bleeping thing he said was not one of those moments. I believe I couldn't speak for a moment after he made the observation/accusation. I wondered, in the 2.3 seconds of lucidity that remained at that point in time, what he thought I would do with the cat, if the cat were indeed the culprit. After I calmed down, some funny shizz popped into my head, which happens more than I'm willing to admit to most people other than my psychiatrist. Out comes the bamboo pad.
That's a police spotlight on Megaroy, my daughter's moron cat,in case my illustration is less than self-explanatory.But I couldn't stop.
Really, I couldn't.
It was like I was compelled.
Yes, I misspelled a word. Funny thing, there's no spell checkon hand writing. (Well, there's the dictionary, but where's
the fun in that?)Someone should name a new mental disorder after me.
I'm so wrong but I can't help myself.
It just kept happening.
There. Now I'm finished haranguing HIM, and to a lesser extent the moron cat.
And for closure, the keys were under the stool in the kitchen, right where I'd dropped them, in my scramble to get the sprinkler ready for outdoor hot-weather watery funness for our daughter. I hate the keys now. It would have been funnier if the cat had stolen them.
May 28, 2012
Ambuigity OR Randomness AGAIN! OR Observations About Whatnot
I realized that among other things I must publish a blog on the morrow and thought, "What the bleep am I going to blog about?" Nothing came to mind. We're still moving. HIM is still a peabrain. Our daughter's cat is still a moron. The same daughter hasn't told me a great story about disembodied hands or zombies eating Walmart. (I still giggle about the hand one.) But I must blog.
I could blog about politics, but everyone blogs about that. Republicans suck. Democrats suck. The Tea Party sucks. All political candidates suck. Their spouses/significant others/nanny's suck. In fact, the entire continent of North America sucks. Well, not all of it. The subject sucks. There, that's better.
Cressy rediscovering the water for summer.Yesterday we went to Westmoreland Park in Virginia right on the Potomac River. There's fossil hunting there. Apparently everyone else knew about it too. The ones who didn't know about it were on the road in front of me, especially the more moronic ones. In fact, no one needed to ask where all the morons went yesterday on that two hour segment of time. They were all in front of me. Every one of them. They got together and decided to do this in honor of me. I'm pretty sure. Back to the fossils. We found a lot of gritty sand, a very pretty park, some pretty shells, a heart shaped rock which I'm pretty sure isn't a rock at all (it's going to vanish mysteriously very soon because it's way too light to be a rock, do you get where I'm going?), and two little rocks that may or may not be fossils. That beach has been picked clean. I think if anyone found a shark's tooth, they'd get jumped by all the other fossil hunters. On the up side, it's a pretty park, we had a nice hike where I didn't have a heart attack, and we did something fun, no matter how snarky I am about it later.
There be fossils on that thar beach. But ye have to fight off
all the other fossil hunters. This tree was the only shade around
except for some canny individual who hiked down the hill
with a beach umbrella. I would have mugged them for the umbrella
but there were too many witnesses with cameras.Cressy was all into the water and getting the gritty sand in parts of her body left unmentioned by anyone not related to her. She certainly didn't want to go back up the hill. We divided up the load. I got the big bag with the towels, sunblock, snacks, and drinks. She got the pail with the scoop. Halfway up the hill, I got the pail with the scoop, too. When we got to the visitor's center, someone was compelled to buy a small skunk plush and it wasn't me.
On the way back we saw this:
You ain't nothing but a bubba, crying all the time.Who knew they have bubbas in Virginia, much less at least 19 of them who want vanity plates? But look, this Bubba drives a Honda truck. (It's like a pretend truck. He might as well be driving the Barbie Beetle.) He should be ashamed of himself, not driving American. Plus, he forgot to use his turn signal at this light.
Then I got home and I lost my car keys. This was the straw that broke the fat woman's back. I pretty much lost my mind. The keys are in the house but they're missing in action. I strip searched the entire kitchen. I went through the garbage. (the can in the kitchen and the two outside cans. None of it smelled or felt good.) I grilled my daughter. ("Did you touch the keys?" "No, Mommy, I did not touch the keys." "Are you sure you didn't touch the keys?" "Yes, Mommy, I'm sure. Can I have my skunk plush now?") I called up HIM and ranted, trying to find a way to blame him. The missing keys are his fault, of course. After a good cry and determination that the keys have disappeared into the great black hole into which all socks and earring-backs go, I started checked how much it was going to cost me for a replacement frickin' key for the Ford. The quotes disturbed me. I think it actually made me cry harder. Cressy brought me a box of Kleenex and patted my arm.
So with that, I'm going to search for the keys again. It turns out that it costs bucks for the replacement key which is so special it has a microchip in it. Maybe someone could put a GPS chip in it. Next time.
I could blog about politics, but everyone blogs about that. Republicans suck. Democrats suck. The Tea Party sucks. All political candidates suck. Their spouses/significant others/nanny's suck. In fact, the entire continent of North America sucks. Well, not all of it. The subject sucks. There, that's better.
Cressy rediscovering the water for summer.Yesterday we went to Westmoreland Park in Virginia right on the Potomac River. There's fossil hunting there. Apparently everyone else knew about it too. The ones who didn't know about it were on the road in front of me, especially the more moronic ones. In fact, no one needed to ask where all the morons went yesterday on that two hour segment of time. They were all in front of me. Every one of them. They got together and decided to do this in honor of me. I'm pretty sure. Back to the fossils. We found a lot of gritty sand, a very pretty park, some pretty shells, a heart shaped rock which I'm pretty sure isn't a rock at all (it's going to vanish mysteriously very soon because it's way too light to be a rock, do you get where I'm going?), and two little rocks that may or may not be fossils. That beach has been picked clean. I think if anyone found a shark's tooth, they'd get jumped by all the other fossil hunters. On the up side, it's a pretty park, we had a nice hike where I didn't have a heart attack, and we did something fun, no matter how snarky I am about it later.
There be fossils on that thar beach. But ye have to fight offall the other fossil hunters. This tree was the only shade around
except for some canny individual who hiked down the hill
with a beach umbrella. I would have mugged them for the umbrella
but there were too many witnesses with cameras.Cressy was all into the water and getting the gritty sand in parts of her body left unmentioned by anyone not related to her. She certainly didn't want to go back up the hill. We divided up the load. I got the big bag with the towels, sunblock, snacks, and drinks. She got the pail with the scoop. Halfway up the hill, I got the pail with the scoop, too. When we got to the visitor's center, someone was compelled to buy a small skunk plush and it wasn't me.
On the way back we saw this:
You ain't nothing but a bubba, crying all the time.Who knew they have bubbas in Virginia, much less at least 19 of them who want vanity plates? But look, this Bubba drives a Honda truck. (It's like a pretend truck. He might as well be driving the Barbie Beetle.) He should be ashamed of himself, not driving American. Plus, he forgot to use his turn signal at this light.Then I got home and I lost my car keys. This was the straw that broke the fat woman's back. I pretty much lost my mind. The keys are in the house but they're missing in action. I strip searched the entire kitchen. I went through the garbage. (the can in the kitchen and the two outside cans. None of it smelled or felt good.) I grilled my daughter. ("Did you touch the keys?" "No, Mommy, I did not touch the keys." "Are you sure you didn't touch the keys?" "Yes, Mommy, I'm sure. Can I have my skunk plush now?") I called up HIM and ranted, trying to find a way to blame him. The missing keys are his fault, of course. After a good cry and determination that the keys have disappeared into the great black hole into which all socks and earring-backs go, I started checked how much it was going to cost me for a replacement frickin' key for the Ford. The quotes disturbed me. I think it actually made me cry harder. Cressy brought me a box of Kleenex and patted my arm.
So with that, I'm going to search for the keys again. It turns out that it costs bucks for the replacement key which is so special it has a microchip in it. Maybe someone could put a GPS chip in it. Next time.
May 24, 2012
Moving Sucks, Moving Sucks, Moving Sucks
Warning:
More complaining to come. Also bitching, griping, snarking, and other words from the Thesaurus. I may also switch subjects without warning as I have been wont to do. (Is wont really a word? Did you see that meteor? I think Obama is going to start wearing a rainbow clown wig for fun. What was I talking about?)
Let us discuss how many stupid, fracking things have to be done in a move. (Do I need to remind anyone that HIM, upon telling me of his job acceptance, uttered these immortal words, which I shall repeat ad nauseum, "Don't worry. I'll do everything." Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. Not.) Consequently, while he's doing "everything", I have taken all the paintings, wall hangings, stuff from the walls and I'm spot painting. Some of these freaking holes are like the size of a meteor crater. (Think Crater Lake in Oregon for reference. Oh, hell, I'll just find a photo.) (Whoops. Small dichotomy here. Crater Lake is NOT a meteor crater. It is, instead, a volcano which popped its top a whole long time ago. The big hole metaphor is the point, however. Just go with it.)
The holes in my walls are just like this. I swear!There. There ain't enough spackle on the face of the earth that's going to fill that hole. So consequently one has to patch. Patching is the art of cutting out a piece of dry wall and inserting it into the hole and using mesh, followed by a concrete like compound that sticks to everything but the walls. This is concluded by sanding, sanding, coughing, sanding, hacking, sanding, and then painting. What joy. What fun. What utter fun. (Somewhere HIM's ears are burning. HIM is likely headed for a bomb shelter at this very moment. That rotten, cheese-eating surrender monkey. That's a quote from the Simpsons, btw. You have to say in your mind with a Scottish accent because Willie the Lawn Dude is the one who said it in the show.) (Wandered, didn't I?)
Then something else happened. Turns out that I can't keep my Verizon DSL service in Alabama for some, damn stupid reason, therefore I have to change my day to day email address. (Don't worry the other emails stay the same.) And anyone who knows about all the stuff we've signed up for and use on the Internet, knows that this means changing email addresses up the hooha. (I used hooha in the last blog about Paranormal Activity 2 and I had a sudden urge to use it again. I just like the way it sounds. I might have to work it in fifty times. I'll have hooha in the blog up the hooha. Hooha!) (I just made up a joke. What does an owl sound like when he laughs? He says hooha! Bad, right?) (Wandering again. Warned ya.) So HIM calls and says something like, "Too bad. So sad. Gotta go back to work, babe." (No, HIM didn't really say that. HIM is in a state of shock and isn't sure what to say to me.) And HIM is so broken up that I have to spend hours updating and changing email addresses on all the things I do, that I can hear the crying in his voice. (I just did a spelling check and the spell check does NOT like the word "hooha." It suggests changing it to hookah or hooray or hooch. Stupid spell check.) (And let me tell you about sprending email around. There are these cool ads on Facebook. So when I click on them to go look at their stuff, they want me to sign up first with my email! They dangle that carrot and then jerk it away. I don't want to get junk email from them for the rest of my natural born life, or up the hooha, so I say eff them.) What was my point?
Oh, yes, HIM having such a hard time once he's down there, sitting on his tookus (which is almost as good a word as hooha.) reading his Kindle in his room, watching HBO, wondering if he should have his laundry dry cleaned or have the motel service take care of it. Oh, yes, life is horrible and wretched for HIM. (I fork the sign of the devil up his hooha. Oh, that didn't exactly work but I'm not changing it.)
Meanwhile I'm writing the exploits of Brownie as he has a mystifying mystery to solve and things happen to him and he experiences the rednecked thrill of Pegram County.
Uh-oh, subject change. Recently I asked Facebook fans about what kind of fans stuff would they want to see at a writer's convention. Business cards, postcards, or something else. I got some great ideas. One suggested a USB business card, which is a little pricey but cool. Then someone else suggested trading cards. I just love the idea of the cover of Bubba and the Dead Woman on one side and a cartoony Bubba on the other with a brief description. "Bubba Snoddy - good ol' boy and all around scapegoat." Or something like that. Anyway thanks to all those Facebook buddies who made suggestions. They were all great. So I did a kind of sample. It looks pretty cool but I'm going to have to raid my daughter's Pokeman collection of trading cards for ideas.
Front of card
Back of cardAnd with a gentile note, I'm out to write more about Brownie and spot paint up the hooha.
I just checked, for those of you who are keeping count. I used hooha 11 times. 12 if you count the last one. So for continuity, hooha, hooha, hooha, hooha, hooha, hooha, hooha, hooha, and hooha. (That owl joke is sounding funnier every minute isn't it?)
Let us discuss how many stupid, fracking things have to be done in a move. (Do I need to remind anyone that HIM, upon telling me of his job acceptance, uttered these immortal words, which I shall repeat ad nauseum, "Don't worry. I'll do everything." Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha. Not.) Consequently, while he's doing "everything", I have taken all the paintings, wall hangings, stuff from the walls and I'm spot painting. Some of these freaking holes are like the size of a meteor crater. (Think Crater Lake in Oregon for reference. Oh, hell, I'll just find a photo.) (Whoops. Small dichotomy here. Crater Lake is NOT a meteor crater. It is, instead, a volcano which popped its top a whole long time ago. The big hole metaphor is the point, however. Just go with it.)
The holes in my walls are just like this. I swear!There. There ain't enough spackle on the face of the earth that's going to fill that hole. So consequently one has to patch. Patching is the art of cutting out a piece of dry wall and inserting it into the hole and using mesh, followed by a concrete like compound that sticks to everything but the walls. This is concluded by sanding, sanding, coughing, sanding, hacking, sanding, and then painting. What joy. What fun. What utter fun. (Somewhere HIM's ears are burning. HIM is likely headed for a bomb shelter at this very moment. That rotten, cheese-eating surrender monkey. That's a quote from the Simpsons, btw. You have to say in your mind with a Scottish accent because Willie the Lawn Dude is the one who said it in the show.) (Wandered, didn't I?)Then something else happened. Turns out that I can't keep my Verizon DSL service in Alabama for some, damn stupid reason, therefore I have to change my day to day email address. (Don't worry the other emails stay the same.) And anyone who knows about all the stuff we've signed up for and use on the Internet, knows that this means changing email addresses up the hooha. (I used hooha in the last blog about Paranormal Activity 2 and I had a sudden urge to use it again. I just like the way it sounds. I might have to work it in fifty times. I'll have hooha in the blog up the hooha. Hooha!) (I just made up a joke. What does an owl sound like when he laughs? He says hooha! Bad, right?) (Wandering again. Warned ya.) So HIM calls and says something like, "Too bad. So sad. Gotta go back to work, babe." (No, HIM didn't really say that. HIM is in a state of shock and isn't sure what to say to me.) And HIM is so broken up that I have to spend hours updating and changing email addresses on all the things I do, that I can hear the crying in his voice. (I just did a spelling check and the spell check does NOT like the word "hooha." It suggests changing it to hookah or hooray or hooch. Stupid spell check.) (And let me tell you about sprending email around. There are these cool ads on Facebook. So when I click on them to go look at their stuff, they want me to sign up first with my email! They dangle that carrot and then jerk it away. I don't want to get junk email from them for the rest of my natural born life, or up the hooha, so I say eff them.) What was my point?
Oh, yes, HIM having such a hard time once he's down there, sitting on his tookus (which is almost as good a word as hooha.) reading his Kindle in his room, watching HBO, wondering if he should have his laundry dry cleaned or have the motel service take care of it. Oh, yes, life is horrible and wretched for HIM. (I fork the sign of the devil up his hooha. Oh, that didn't exactly work but I'm not changing it.)
Meanwhile I'm writing the exploits of Brownie as he has a mystifying mystery to solve and things happen to him and he experiences the rednecked thrill of Pegram County.
Uh-oh, subject change. Recently I asked Facebook fans about what kind of fans stuff would they want to see at a writer's convention. Business cards, postcards, or something else. I got some great ideas. One suggested a USB business card, which is a little pricey but cool. Then someone else suggested trading cards. I just love the idea of the cover of Bubba and the Dead Woman on one side and a cartoony Bubba on the other with a brief description. "Bubba Snoddy - good ol' boy and all around scapegoat." Or something like that. Anyway thanks to all those Facebook buddies who made suggestions. They were all great. So I did a kind of sample. It looks pretty cool but I'm going to have to raid my daughter's Pokeman collection of trading cards for ideas.
Front of card
Back of cardAnd with a gentile note, I'm out to write more about Brownie and spot paint up the hooha.I just checked, for those of you who are keeping count. I used hooha 11 times. 12 if you count the last one. So for continuity, hooha, hooha, hooha, hooha, hooha, hooha, hooha, hooha, and hooha. (That owl joke is sounding funnier every minute isn't it?)
May 21, 2012
MORE Paranormal Activity OR the Attack of the Sequel!
Okay, not too long ago I wrote a blog about a movie I watched, Paranormal Activity. Go read the blog first so I don't have waste a paragraph summing up. See Paranormal Activity OR Why Demons/Ghosts/Supernatural Thingymabobs Never Possess Fat Women.
Now for the funny part. So I was lying about yesterday, having been decimated by painting, Girl Scout drama, mama drama, moving issues, possible new house foundation problems, and the fact that my brain had melted into primordial goo, and I flipped through the On Demand movies from Starz. (Think it was Starz but who really cares?) There was PARANORMAL ACTIVITY....wait for it....2! Not PARANORMAL ACTIVITY (No number - pretend this isn't here) but PARANORMAL ACTIVITY 2! OMFG! MORE paranormal extravaganza! I looked at the description, not really interested except in a what-the-hell-else-am-I-going-to-watch manner, and it said the events in this movie take place four months before the first one. This, of course, intrigued the writer in me, which is always trying to dissect other writers' works. (This also ruins movies for me so I try not to do it.) So I watched a little of PARANORMAL ACTIVITY 2! Then I went ahead and watched the whole thing.
Why? Why, why, why, you ask. I was wondering where their plot could go considering that PARANORMAL ACTIVITY 2 is a prequel to PARANORMAL ACTIVITY 1. (I added the number for clarity.) (Also you ask why must I italicize the movie title and put it in caps AND make it red? Because it amuses me. Also I think there's a rule about movie titles being italicized. Then I just made up a rule about all supernatural related theme movies being in RED. I would have it dripping in RED but I don't feel like doing that many illustrations.) Where was I?
See, dripping in redness. Redity, red, red for all the imminent horror to come.Ah yes. I need to warn those of you who haven't seen PARANORMAL ACTIVITY 1 or PARANORMAL ACTIVITY 2, because I intend on spoiling the holy-living-heck out of it. I'm going to be snide. I'm going to make subtly denigrating comments and I'm going to tell you what happens to the last bloody bit of film footage. So here's the warning:
SPOILERS COMING UP NEXT! SPOILERS ABOUNDING! THERE THERE BE SPOILERS, AVAST! SPOILERS APPROACHING! THE AUTHOR OF THIS BLOG DOES NOT TAKE ANY RESPONSIBILITY IN YOUR SPOILAGE OF THIS PARTICULAR MOVIE! GO BACK NOW!
There, no one can say they haven't been warned. Well, they can say it, but it ain't true. In the first movie, PARANORMAL ACTIVITY, we've got Katie and Micah who live together and have a little supernatural fun with a demon. There's a camera that Micah loves to film with (and without there would be no film), there's revelations about Katie having a par-ree-nor-male friend as a child, and there's baby powder on the floor which reveals something walking through it while the couple are sleeping on the bed next to the door and the floor where the baby powder is. Let's just say nothing good happens in a movie where the supernaturalness is not presenting flowers and chocolates to their human cohorts. (No sparkling g**d**n vampires running around that house.)
Okay, PARANORMAL ACTIVITY 2. It starts all black screen and thanks the Police Department and the families of the dead people and is supposed to be pseudo real. It says it happens FOUR MONTHS before PARANORMAL ACTIVITY (1). This time it's Katie's sister, Kristi, who's house is the focus. And we've got lots of people with camcorders galore. In fact, Kristi's step-daughter, Ali, has got one. Kristi's husband, Daniel, has got one. The only one who hasn't got one is their year-old-son, Hunter (and that's probably because his is made by Tonka). Early on, something happens to the house and all the rooms get messed up except HUNTER'S, because we wouldn't want to point a flaming finger at any possible victims of the movie, would we? This becomes a plot device to have Daniel hire a security guy to install cameras all over the frickin' house. (This way, we get to watch all the camera angles AND the camcorders AND the camcorder plot device doesn't become old and trite. Think of Micah from the first one following Katie into the bathroom and her not clobbering him with it.) (If HIM followed me in the bathroom with a camcorder I would have stuck the camcorder where the sun don't shine. The proctologist would have to remove the camcorder. End of business.)
So we start seeing stuff happening. Doors opening by themselves. Pots falling without anyone touching them. Kristi getting freaked out. Ali getting freaked out. Ali and her boyfriend in the hottub getting freaked out together. There's a guest appearance from Katie and Micah, who haven't been possessed and murdered yet. Katie and Kristie throw out hints about a "strange" set of incidents from their childhood. The photograph of Katie from the first movie appears. But the following isn't a photograph of Katie.
And most importantly, the cinematic viewer gets a whole crop of would-be victims to choose from. We have the nubile step-daughter, Ali, who luvs her brother, but also luvs to think about various theories on why demons choose to hang at their house. (In fact, it is she who determines that some ancestor made a deal with the devil in exchange for a first born son, and there wasn't any sons until Hunter. Her theory was a little weak and lacked evidence but it's a horror movie, so we're stuck with it.) We have a nanny, Martine, who warns all of the family in Spanish, because if she had spoken English it would have been a really short movie. We have the dad, Daniel, who basically pooh-pooh's every one's supernatural suspicions. ("No, people, there is nothing going on. It's an electrical confluence of metaenergy. Or swamp gas.") We have Kristi, who looks like she's having post-post-post partum depression and really isn't happy about anything. We have Hunter, the cute little baby who talks to the nonseen entity just off camera. (Hunter was having a good time. I suspect his real mommy was waving Cheerios at him.) And we have a dog. A German Shepherd named Abby, who is a big, fat, flaming target walking around woofing and eating doggy biscuits. (You know that everyone in the audience is going, "Poor damn dog.")
Of course, paranormal adventures are about to ensue! We've got things happening. A burning pan in the kitchen that no one owns up to. Mysterious thumps in the night. The pool cleaner climbs out of the pool by itself. (I think the entity had something against a clean pool.) The nubile step-daughter has a boyfriend over, who may also be a would-be VICTIM! In fact, I'm pretty sure his t-shirt said, "Kill me, I'm a horny teenager." on it. (Hey, they were in the hot tub together at one point in time and that's like an automatic, thou-shall-die-wretchedly-if-you-do-this rule they just broke.)
It's halfway through the movie before anyone remembers that they've got cameras up the hooha and that they're recording everything. ("OMG, don't we have cameras around here? I can look at the footage!") Yes, Virginia, there is a bogeyman in the house. Actually, the bogey's hanging out in the basement with frequent fortes up to the second floor to play with Hunter. (They're simpatico and the entity has Cheerios!)
Meanwhile, I wanted to play the who-gets-killed-first game. Nubile step-daughter was top of my list. Then the boyfriend, and the dog, followed by the nanny, and then mom and dad. I needed a scorecard to keep up. But the dad fired the nanny for being all superstitious and wafting incense around and the nanny got away so I had to scratch her off. (No pun intended.)
Things started getting interesting when Kristi the mom was dragged down the stairs and into the basement while everyone else was gone. So when she came out of the basement, she was all demonic and wanted to take a nap. (Pretty sure the movie was still a little short at that point and they needed some more horrifying drama, so she couldn't demonize herself right at that moment.) Ali the step-daughter shows the chin-bumping-on-the-carpet footage to Dad and Dad suddenly realizes that the nanny was right all along! Her Spanish declarations of evilness should have warned them but they did not listen. He gets Martine back and they come up with a plan. They can pass the evilness off to someone else beside Kristi but it has to be a blood relative. Guess who's the closest relative? Yes, it's KATIE! Katie the demonically possessed one from the first movie! Katie wins the supernatural lottery in PARANORMAL ACTIVITY 2! (Well, they couldn't give it to the baby, right?)
Dad and Martine perform an ancient-only-known-to-nannies ceremony. Dad chases Kristi around the basement, along with Hunter giggling hysterically. (They must have been tickling the kid's feet off camera.) There's some Blair Witchiness going on with shaking cameras and shoots of intermediate blackness. (One has to remember that the security guys did not put a camera in the basement, but the director remembered that Dad needed to take his camcorder in the basement to chase his errant demonic wife and to also make the movie not have a big gaping hole in it.)
Phew! All is well. Words scroll across the screen to remind us that it's four months later and Katie has just smeared Micah against the wall at another location. Now we get to see Kristi's house again. There's Daniel and Kristi and Hunter. Katie pops up, weirds everyone out by standing behind Daniel for awhile without him knowing it while he's watching a Dunkin' Donut commercial. (Which would weird anyone out.) Then she breaks his neck, goes upstairs and throws Kristi against the camera. (It worked well with Micah.) Then she takes off with Hunter, who is giggling again.
And they're never seen again...da dah daaaaaaahhhhh. (But there is a note that Ali comes back from a school trip and finds the bodies, although it doesn't say what happens to her boyfriend, Martine, or the dog.)
You might understand why they don't pay me to review movies.
Now for the funny part. So I was lying about yesterday, having been decimated by painting, Girl Scout drama, mama drama, moving issues, possible new house foundation problems, and the fact that my brain had melted into primordial goo, and I flipped through the On Demand movies from Starz. (Think it was Starz but who really cares?) There was PARANORMAL ACTIVITY....wait for it....2! Not PARANORMAL ACTIVITY (No number - pretend this isn't here) but PARANORMAL ACTIVITY 2! OMFG! MORE paranormal extravaganza! I looked at the description, not really interested except in a what-the-hell-else-am-I-going-to-watch manner, and it said the events in this movie take place four months before the first one. This, of course, intrigued the writer in me, which is always trying to dissect other writers' works. (This also ruins movies for me so I try not to do it.) So I watched a little of PARANORMAL ACTIVITY 2! Then I went ahead and watched the whole thing.
Why? Why, why, why, you ask. I was wondering where their plot could go considering that PARANORMAL ACTIVITY 2 is a prequel to PARANORMAL ACTIVITY 1. (I added the number for clarity.) (Also you ask why must I italicize the movie title and put it in caps AND make it red? Because it amuses me. Also I think there's a rule about movie titles being italicized. Then I just made up a rule about all supernatural related theme movies being in RED. I would have it dripping in RED but I don't feel like doing that many illustrations.) Where was I?
See, dripping in redness. Redity, red, red for all the imminent horror to come.Ah yes. I need to warn those of you who haven't seen PARANORMAL ACTIVITY 1 or PARANORMAL ACTIVITY 2, because I intend on spoiling the holy-living-heck out of it. I'm going to be snide. I'm going to make subtly denigrating comments and I'm going to tell you what happens to the last bloody bit of film footage. So here's the warning:SPOILERS COMING UP NEXT! SPOILERS ABOUNDING! THERE THERE BE SPOILERS, AVAST! SPOILERS APPROACHING! THE AUTHOR OF THIS BLOG DOES NOT TAKE ANY RESPONSIBILITY IN YOUR SPOILAGE OF THIS PARTICULAR MOVIE! GO BACK NOW!
There, no one can say they haven't been warned. Well, they can say it, but it ain't true. In the first movie, PARANORMAL ACTIVITY, we've got Katie and Micah who live together and have a little supernatural fun with a demon. There's a camera that Micah loves to film with (and without there would be no film), there's revelations about Katie having a par-ree-nor-male friend as a child, and there's baby powder on the floor which reveals something walking through it while the couple are sleeping on the bed next to the door and the floor where the baby powder is. Let's just say nothing good happens in a movie where the supernaturalness is not presenting flowers and chocolates to their human cohorts. (No sparkling g**d**n vampires running around that house.)
Okay, PARANORMAL ACTIVITY 2. It starts all black screen and thanks the Police Department and the families of the dead people and is supposed to be pseudo real. It says it happens FOUR MONTHS before PARANORMAL ACTIVITY (1). This time it's Katie's sister, Kristi, who's house is the focus. And we've got lots of people with camcorders galore. In fact, Kristi's step-daughter, Ali, has got one. Kristi's husband, Daniel, has got one. The only one who hasn't got one is their year-old-son, Hunter (and that's probably because his is made by Tonka). Early on, something happens to the house and all the rooms get messed up except HUNTER'S, because we wouldn't want to point a flaming finger at any possible victims of the movie, would we? This becomes a plot device to have Daniel hire a security guy to install cameras all over the frickin' house. (This way, we get to watch all the camera angles AND the camcorders AND the camcorder plot device doesn't become old and trite. Think of Micah from the first one following Katie into the bathroom and her not clobbering him with it.) (If HIM followed me in the bathroom with a camcorder I would have stuck the camcorder where the sun don't shine. The proctologist would have to remove the camcorder. End of business.)
So we start seeing stuff happening. Doors opening by themselves. Pots falling without anyone touching them. Kristi getting freaked out. Ali getting freaked out. Ali and her boyfriend in the hottub getting freaked out together. There's a guest appearance from Katie and Micah, who haven't been possessed and murdered yet. Katie and Kristie throw out hints about a "strange" set of incidents from their childhood. The photograph of Katie from the first movie appears. But the following isn't a photograph of Katie.
And most importantly, the cinematic viewer gets a whole crop of would-be victims to choose from. We have the nubile step-daughter, Ali, who luvs her brother, but also luvs to think about various theories on why demons choose to hang at their house. (In fact, it is she who determines that some ancestor made a deal with the devil in exchange for a first born son, and there wasn't any sons until Hunter. Her theory was a little weak and lacked evidence but it's a horror movie, so we're stuck with it.) We have a nanny, Martine, who warns all of the family in Spanish, because if she had spoken English it would have been a really short movie. We have the dad, Daniel, who basically pooh-pooh's every one's supernatural suspicions. ("No, people, there is nothing going on. It's an electrical confluence of metaenergy. Or swamp gas.") We have Kristi, who looks like she's having post-post-post partum depression and really isn't happy about anything. We have Hunter, the cute little baby who talks to the nonseen entity just off camera. (Hunter was having a good time. I suspect his real mommy was waving Cheerios at him.) And we have a dog. A German Shepherd named Abby, who is a big, fat, flaming target walking around woofing and eating doggy biscuits. (You know that everyone in the audience is going, "Poor damn dog.")
Of course, paranormal adventures are about to ensue! We've got things happening. A burning pan in the kitchen that no one owns up to. Mysterious thumps in the night. The pool cleaner climbs out of the pool by itself. (I think the entity had something against a clean pool.) The nubile step-daughter has a boyfriend over, who may also be a would-be VICTIM! In fact, I'm pretty sure his t-shirt said, "Kill me, I'm a horny teenager." on it. (Hey, they were in the hot tub together at one point in time and that's like an automatic, thou-shall-die-wretchedly-if-you-do-this rule they just broke.)
It's halfway through the movie before anyone remembers that they've got cameras up the hooha and that they're recording everything. ("OMG, don't we have cameras around here? I can look at the footage!") Yes, Virginia, there is a bogeyman in the house. Actually, the bogey's hanging out in the basement with frequent fortes up to the second floor to play with Hunter. (They're simpatico and the entity has Cheerios!)
Meanwhile, I wanted to play the who-gets-killed-first game. Nubile step-daughter was top of my list. Then the boyfriend, and the dog, followed by the nanny, and then mom and dad. I needed a scorecard to keep up. But the dad fired the nanny for being all superstitious and wafting incense around and the nanny got away so I had to scratch her off. (No pun intended.)
Things started getting interesting when Kristi the mom was dragged down the stairs and into the basement while everyone else was gone. So when she came out of the basement, she was all demonic and wanted to take a nap. (Pretty sure the movie was still a little short at that point and they needed some more horrifying drama, so she couldn't demonize herself right at that moment.) Ali the step-daughter shows the chin-bumping-on-the-carpet footage to Dad and Dad suddenly realizes that the nanny was right all along! Her Spanish declarations of evilness should have warned them but they did not listen. He gets Martine back and they come up with a plan. They can pass the evilness off to someone else beside Kristi but it has to be a blood relative. Guess who's the closest relative? Yes, it's KATIE! Katie the demonically possessed one from the first movie! Katie wins the supernatural lottery in PARANORMAL ACTIVITY 2! (Well, they couldn't give it to the baby, right?)
Dad and Martine perform an ancient-only-known-to-nannies ceremony. Dad chases Kristi around the basement, along with Hunter giggling hysterically. (They must have been tickling the kid's feet off camera.) There's some Blair Witchiness going on with shaking cameras and shoots of intermediate blackness. (One has to remember that the security guys did not put a camera in the basement, but the director remembered that Dad needed to take his camcorder in the basement to chase his errant demonic wife and to also make the movie not have a big gaping hole in it.)
Phew! All is well. Words scroll across the screen to remind us that it's four months later and Katie has just smeared Micah against the wall at another location. Now we get to see Kristi's house again. There's Daniel and Kristi and Hunter. Katie pops up, weirds everyone out by standing behind Daniel for awhile without him knowing it while he's watching a Dunkin' Donut commercial. (Which would weird anyone out.) Then she breaks his neck, goes upstairs and throws Kristi against the camera. (It worked well with Micah.) Then she takes off with Hunter, who is giggling again.
And they're never seen again...da dah daaaaaaahhhhh. (But there is a note that Ali comes back from a school trip and finds the bodies, although it doesn't say what happens to her boyfriend, Martine, or the dog.)
You might understand why they don't pay me to review movies.
May 17, 2012
My Day OR the Secret Life of a Writer OR How It's Still HIM's Fault
The secret life of a writer. (The glamour, the jet-setting, the amazing events that occur!)
First I put the garbage out. I made the mistake of putting old freezer food in the open can and maddened squirrels attacked the can followed by voracious ants. (There might have been a tiger or a bear out there, too. At least, that's what it looked like after they were done with it and I was picking up five year old, semi-squooshy bits of what I suspect was some kind of home-made bread.) Then it rained and filled up half the bottom of the open can. I hid from the garbage men because I'm pretty sure they would have said something nasty to me.
Seriously, I have a secret fear of garbage men.
I'm not sure what I think they'll do.
Refusing to take MY garbage is
at the top of the list, though.I returned to painting my daughter's room. Previously it was purple. No, **PURPLE**! Really, really **PURPLE**!! and it needed several coats of paint to cover the **PURPLE**! up. But before I painted I decided to put new curtains in that room after the painting was completed, which was a mistake. (The decision to put new curtains up was the mistake, not the painting.) I went to Target and found that they don't like to sell the kind of valances that the old curtain rods have, and no, I am not a person who sews. In fact, I have problems putting a thread through a needle. I even have problems putting a thread through a needle using the special-for-idiots tool that those little sewing kits provide. I'd rather throw the clothes out than sew on them. ("Perfectly good pair of jeans that needs a button. Too bad! In the trash! Maybe the garbage men will like that better than the old freezer food.")
ANYHOO, no valances at Target. Presto, I decided to take the old curtain rods down, fix the holes in the walls, and put new curtain rods up that were spiffier. (If spiffier isn't a word, then it is now.) I bought everything. Previous to painting I attempted to take the old curtain rods down. Hahaha. No. The little bolts had been painted on several times. I pounded, scraped, went and got the correctly sized bolt doohickey tool. (That's a socket wrench to those of you who have to have details.) Finally I got all but one bolt off. My hands hurt. My back hurt. I think my butt hurt, too. (But I don't know why.) Losing all patience I ripped the thing out of the wall and...left a big fat hole. And that was only the first window. There are two windows in her bedroom with all of the **PURPLE** paint. I took a break before the second one. That time I managed to get away with a smaller hole.
Out to the garage to find the mega can of Spackle and the little spatula thing that you use to smear it on with. Also somewhere I lost the sanding blocks I bought from the last round of fixing holes in the walls. So I dug and found some sanding paper that will work but killed my fingers. I finally fixed the holes. (Did you know you can put pounds of Spackle in the walls? I did not know this. POUNDS! And pounds of Spackle take a really long time to dry.) Then I painted. I painted some more. I started singing sea shanties about painting. (Not really but it sounds funny, right? *What do you do with a drunken sailor? Make him paint my waa-allls.*)
The moron cat, Megaroy, came in and decided that he would help paint. (After putting his paws up on the wet wall, he ran like hell down the hallway because something icky was on his paws. It did not help that I was chasing him like a loon. I would have stopped to take a picture of the paw prints down the wooden hallway floor but I was afraid if I waited the paint would dry and I would have to scrape it up with my fingernails.) I had to de-paint the cat's paws. (Now I have bandages all over my arms because the cat was not happy with the de-painting of the paws process. In fact, you might saw he was highly aggravated.)
I locked the cat in the other bedroom and painted some more.
Finally, done with the painting. I took all the old curtain rods out to the garbage, along with the old freezer food, and scared off the squirrels. The ants were not impressed and did not leave. Someone came along an hour later and took all the old curtain rods. (Maybe they have old valances that those curtain rods fit or possibly they were smart enough not to try to take the old hardware off the walls.)
I collapsed in a chair, certain that the painting will never be over. (There are four more rooms that need spot-painting.) Or even better is that I will have to return to Home Depot to get another can of the same color paint because I forgot to paint something. (That Home Depot guy still wants to talk to me about the "special" program I can be in so they will always know what color paint I need. Them and the NSA.)
The garbage men glared at me as they drove past. (They might have put a hit out on me.) The squirrels gave me the stinky eye. (It's possible they're in collusion with the garbage men.) I stomped on a couple of ants because I didn't really want to be on the bottom of the heap. (No, I didn't really stomp on ants.) I wrote HIM a nasty email but then I deleted it.
Now I'm waiting on the line for Verizon to help with the telephone bills that we're not getting. We're supposed to be getting them but we're not and I can't access the account online either. So far I've talked to a nice lady in Tampa, Florida, another lady in Virginia, and now I'm on hold for a "special department that helps with that thing specifically," which is a direct quote because I couldn't not quote that wondrous statement. What joy and fun I'm having today. (Sarcasm.)
But on the bright side, I'm about half way done with Brownie and the Dame. If I'm really lucky it'll be done by the time the movers show up on our doorstep.
First I put the garbage out. I made the mistake of putting old freezer food in the open can and maddened squirrels attacked the can followed by voracious ants. (There might have been a tiger or a bear out there, too. At least, that's what it looked like after they were done with it and I was picking up five year old, semi-squooshy bits of what I suspect was some kind of home-made bread.) Then it rained and filled up half the bottom of the open can. I hid from the garbage men because I'm pretty sure they would have said something nasty to me.
Seriously, I have a secret fear of garbage men.I'm not sure what I think they'll do.
Refusing to take MY garbage is
at the top of the list, though.I returned to painting my daughter's room. Previously it was purple. No, **PURPLE**! Really, really **PURPLE**!! and it needed several coats of paint to cover the **PURPLE**! up. But before I painted I decided to put new curtains in that room after the painting was completed, which was a mistake. (The decision to put new curtains up was the mistake, not the painting.) I went to Target and found that they don't like to sell the kind of valances that the old curtain rods have, and no, I am not a person who sews. In fact, I have problems putting a thread through a needle. I even have problems putting a thread through a needle using the special-for-idiots tool that those little sewing kits provide. I'd rather throw the clothes out than sew on them. ("Perfectly good pair of jeans that needs a button. Too bad! In the trash! Maybe the garbage men will like that better than the old freezer food.")
ANYHOO, no valances at Target. Presto, I decided to take the old curtain rods down, fix the holes in the walls, and put new curtain rods up that were spiffier. (If spiffier isn't a word, then it is now.) I bought everything. Previous to painting I attempted to take the old curtain rods down. Hahaha. No. The little bolts had been painted on several times. I pounded, scraped, went and got the correctly sized bolt doohickey tool. (That's a socket wrench to those of you who have to have details.) Finally I got all but one bolt off. My hands hurt. My back hurt. I think my butt hurt, too. (But I don't know why.) Losing all patience I ripped the thing out of the wall and...left a big fat hole. And that was only the first window. There are two windows in her bedroom with all of the **PURPLE** paint. I took a break before the second one. That time I managed to get away with a smaller hole.
Out to the garage to find the mega can of Spackle and the little spatula thing that you use to smear it on with. Also somewhere I lost the sanding blocks I bought from the last round of fixing holes in the walls. So I dug and found some sanding paper that will work but killed my fingers. I finally fixed the holes. (Did you know you can put pounds of Spackle in the walls? I did not know this. POUNDS! And pounds of Spackle take a really long time to dry.) Then I painted. I painted some more. I started singing sea shanties about painting. (Not really but it sounds funny, right? *What do you do with a drunken sailor? Make him paint my waa-allls.*)The moron cat, Megaroy, came in and decided that he would help paint. (After putting his paws up on the wet wall, he ran like hell down the hallway because something icky was on his paws. It did not help that I was chasing him like a loon. I would have stopped to take a picture of the paw prints down the wooden hallway floor but I was afraid if I waited the paint would dry and I would have to scrape it up with my fingernails.) I had to de-paint the cat's paws. (Now I have bandages all over my arms because the cat was not happy with the de-painting of the paws process. In fact, you might saw he was highly aggravated.)
I locked the cat in the other bedroom and painted some more.Finally, done with the painting. I took all the old curtain rods out to the garbage, along with the old freezer food, and scared off the squirrels. The ants were not impressed and did not leave. Someone came along an hour later and took all the old curtain rods. (Maybe they have old valances that those curtain rods fit or possibly they were smart enough not to try to take the old hardware off the walls.)
I collapsed in a chair, certain that the painting will never be over. (There are four more rooms that need spot-painting.) Or even better is that I will have to return to Home Depot to get another can of the same color paint because I forgot to paint something. (That Home Depot guy still wants to talk to me about the "special" program I can be in so they will always know what color paint I need. Them and the NSA.)
The garbage men glared at me as they drove past. (They might have put a hit out on me.) The squirrels gave me the stinky eye. (It's possible they're in collusion with the garbage men.) I stomped on a couple of ants because I didn't really want to be on the bottom of the heap. (No, I didn't really stomp on ants.) I wrote HIM a nasty email but then I deleted it.
Now I'm waiting on the line for Verizon to help with the telephone bills that we're not getting. We're supposed to be getting them but we're not and I can't access the account online either. So far I've talked to a nice lady in Tampa, Florida, another lady in Virginia, and now I'm on hold for a "special department that helps with that thing specifically," which is a direct quote because I couldn't not quote that wondrous statement. What joy and fun I'm having today. (Sarcasm.)
But on the bright side, I'm about half way done with Brownie and the Dame. If I'm really lucky it'll be done by the time the movers show up on our doorstep.
