C.L. Bevill's Blog, page 9
July 28, 2013
Diary of a Retaining Wall OR How We Bothered the Neighbors Again
Recently we were told that our deck is tilting. We live on a hill and the deck is not supposed to tilt. Consequently we had to put in a retaining wall down at the bottom of the deck so the deck would not become part of the back yard and float down the hill in a spray of dirt and cause the news media to take pictures of it in a morality story of what happens when you buy a house that is built on a hill. (Or what happens when you have a run-on sentence.)
My rendition of our deck.
There should be a frowny face on the bottom here,
but I didn't feel like drawing it.Last week, after chasing contractors down the street while waving money at them, the work finally began. The neighbors looked on in dismay. And the mayhem commenced.
Any minute I expect to get a knock on the
door from the kid with the dirt bike
asking to use our track.The photo above is the road they created through our yard to get all the gravel, brick, tools, crap, blahdeblahblah stuff. It isn't obvious but they made a big old dirt track through the minuscule landscaping we used to have. Notice the crappy heat pumps on the left. (That's my next project as soon as money starts shooting out of my butt like a funky green rainbow.)
They wouldn't let me drive the bobcat
thingy. It was probably because
I called it a "bobcat thingy."The above photo is only part of the bricks and gravel they brought down from the street. (Coincidentally, the neighbor catercorner to us is having his deck rebuilt at the same time so we had a case of dueling delivery trucks, which pretty much stopped up the neighborhood road and put us on the hit list for everyone around. People drive their cars slowly past glaring at us.) I'd like to point out that each of those bricks weighs 85 pounds. I know this because the poor bastard who had to lift them up and put them on the loader, drive them down the hill, and then lift them out again told me three times. I would go out and give him Gatorade, which weighs about 16 ounces. (But I did it three times.) Also I should point out that the amount in the photo above is is only about half of the bricks because the other half is under the deck and below the dogwood tree that is also tilting.
My MIL came to visit. If you look
closely you can see her sitting up there.
"Hi, Mom!"The above picture is the right side of the deck, if you're looking at it from the yard. You can see Cressy's tree house in the back, which isn't tilting at all. The bats who live in the attic space of the deck get in from the top right corner against the house where that one little spray of green leaves is. (If you look closely you can see the bats waving and hear them yelling, "Not getting us out of here, bee-yotches!") Yes, Virginia, those are more bricks beneath the deck. I couldn't get a picture of the guy who moved all the bricks because I thought he might not like it. And also he can lift two 85 pounds bricks at the same time so I should just bring him more Gatorade.
Before we moved in the previous owners
had workmen put up these X's to help
shore up the deck. It didn't work.The picture above is the back of the deck as seen from the backyard. It looks fun and cool but it's a big muddy mess. I have a special pair of tennis shoes I've been using just to go out and dig out crap that we're doing to save money. I've been washing them out and leaving them outside in the warm, moist Alabama air and now they smell like something died in them. Needless to say those shoes will be going into the garbage when we're done.
I tried lifting one of the blocks when the
guy wasn't looking. I couldn't do it and
I needed ibuprofen afterwards.More bricks and the trench between the supporting posts and the left side is the first retaining wall they'll build next week. Then when they're done with that, they'll build another retaining wall on the right side of the supporting posts. Then we'll eat Ramen noodles for a year. When people ask me why I wear a t-shirt with holes in it, I just say I spent my money on a retaining wall instead. The tree to the right of the photo above is our tilting dogwood, which may or may not fall down. We've asked it but it isn't talking.
I wish this wasn't fuzzy.This is a photobomb that I got from the Internet because I was bored with putting up pictures of our yard project. I should really say "Our YARD PROJECT" or "Our Fricking, Expensive, M-Effing Yard Project" or "The Primary Reason I Will Never Again Buy a House on the Side of a Hill Project." Anyway, if you're taking a self portrait on some lake and a squirrel/chipmunk? poses in your photo, I think it's good luck. All the squirrels and/or chipmunks in our yard have hauled ass for other latitudes.
Unsurprisingly I used this photo in another
diatribe about home improvement.
Think it was something about wall spackle.My sister suggested I compare Our M-Effing Yard Project to the above photo. We didn't get to bury bones of dead workers under it, though. However, we did find bottles, cans, house construction waste, and other crap I couldn't identify. (No cans of gold coins. Jeez, the least we could find was an old can of gold coins. Really.)
The kid doesn't really use the tree house.
I'm moving my office in there just as soon
as we get an AC unit in there.While the guys were toting 85 pound bricks around, HIM, the man to whom I'm married, decided to build a drainage ditch next to the tree house. He rented a ditch witch and proceeded to break six irrigation pipes and lost two sprinklers in the process. It took longer to fix the broken pipes than it did to dig the trench. However, I have since learned that when one breaks a pipe, in order to fix it, one must dig it out by hand in order to have enough pipe visible to be able to cut it off in order to put on a new connection. By hand means digging with a shovel and then by hand. Then two of the connections he re-did leaked and had to be re-did again. Then the system had to be tested, the drainage hose put in, and reburied. I'm not sure where all the dirt went because we didn't seem to have enough dirt to fill in the trench, even with the big ass drainage hose in it. Anyway, my back hurts and there's about an inch of mud stuck to my stinky shoes.
Surprisingly there aren't that many photos of dirty shoes
on the Internet. Who knew?These aren't really my dirty shoes but what the hell?
My rendition of our deck.There should be a frowny face on the bottom here,
but I didn't feel like drawing it.Last week, after chasing contractors down the street while waving money at them, the work finally began. The neighbors looked on in dismay. And the mayhem commenced.
Any minute I expect to get a knock on thedoor from the kid with the dirt bike
asking to use our track.The photo above is the road they created through our yard to get all the gravel, brick, tools, crap, blahdeblahblah stuff. It isn't obvious but they made a big old dirt track through the minuscule landscaping we used to have. Notice the crappy heat pumps on the left. (That's my next project as soon as money starts shooting out of my butt like a funky green rainbow.)
They wouldn't let me drive the bobcatthingy. It was probably because
I called it a "bobcat thingy."The above photo is only part of the bricks and gravel they brought down from the street. (Coincidentally, the neighbor catercorner to us is having his deck rebuilt at the same time so we had a case of dueling delivery trucks, which pretty much stopped up the neighborhood road and put us on the hit list for everyone around. People drive their cars slowly past glaring at us.) I'd like to point out that each of those bricks weighs 85 pounds. I know this because the poor bastard who had to lift them up and put them on the loader, drive them down the hill, and then lift them out again told me three times. I would go out and give him Gatorade, which weighs about 16 ounces. (But I did it three times.) Also I should point out that the amount in the photo above is is only about half of the bricks because the other half is under the deck and below the dogwood tree that is also tilting.
My MIL came to visit. If you lookclosely you can see her sitting up there.
"Hi, Mom!"The above picture is the right side of the deck, if you're looking at it from the yard. You can see Cressy's tree house in the back, which isn't tilting at all. The bats who live in the attic space of the deck get in from the top right corner against the house where that one little spray of green leaves is. (If you look closely you can see the bats waving and hear them yelling, "Not getting us out of here, bee-yotches!") Yes, Virginia, those are more bricks beneath the deck. I couldn't get a picture of the guy who moved all the bricks because I thought he might not like it. And also he can lift two 85 pounds bricks at the same time so I should just bring him more Gatorade.
Before we moved in the previous ownershad workmen put up these X's to help
shore up the deck. It didn't work.The picture above is the back of the deck as seen from the backyard. It looks fun and cool but it's a big muddy mess. I have a special pair of tennis shoes I've been using just to go out and dig out crap that we're doing to save money. I've been washing them out and leaving them outside in the warm, moist Alabama air and now they smell like something died in them. Needless to say those shoes will be going into the garbage when we're done.
I tried lifting one of the blocks when theguy wasn't looking. I couldn't do it and
I needed ibuprofen afterwards.More bricks and the trench between the supporting posts and the left side is the first retaining wall they'll build next week. Then when they're done with that, they'll build another retaining wall on the right side of the supporting posts. Then we'll eat Ramen noodles for a year. When people ask me why I wear a t-shirt with holes in it, I just say I spent my money on a retaining wall instead. The tree to the right of the photo above is our tilting dogwood, which may or may not fall down. We've asked it but it isn't talking.
I wish this wasn't fuzzy.This is a photobomb that I got from the Internet because I was bored with putting up pictures of our yard project. I should really say "Our YARD PROJECT" or "Our Fricking, Expensive, M-Effing Yard Project" or "The Primary Reason I Will Never Again Buy a House on the Side of a Hill Project." Anyway, if you're taking a self portrait on some lake and a squirrel/chipmunk? poses in your photo, I think it's good luck. All the squirrels and/or chipmunks in our yard have hauled ass for other latitudes.
Unsurprisingly I used this photo in anotherdiatribe about home improvement.
Think it was something about wall spackle.My sister suggested I compare Our M-Effing Yard Project to the above photo. We didn't get to bury bones of dead workers under it, though. However, we did find bottles, cans, house construction waste, and other crap I couldn't identify. (No cans of gold coins. Jeez, the least we could find was an old can of gold coins. Really.)
The kid doesn't really use the tree house.I'm moving my office in there just as soon
as we get an AC unit in there.While the guys were toting 85 pound bricks around, HIM, the man to whom I'm married, decided to build a drainage ditch next to the tree house. He rented a ditch witch and proceeded to break six irrigation pipes and lost two sprinklers in the process. It took longer to fix the broken pipes than it did to dig the trench. However, I have since learned that when one breaks a pipe, in order to fix it, one must dig it out by hand in order to have enough pipe visible to be able to cut it off in order to put on a new connection. By hand means digging with a shovel and then by hand. Then two of the connections he re-did leaked and had to be re-did again. Then the system had to be tested, the drainage hose put in, and reburied. I'm not sure where all the dirt went because we didn't seem to have enough dirt to fill in the trench, even with the big ass drainage hose in it. Anyway, my back hurts and there's about an inch of mud stuck to my stinky shoes.
Surprisingly there aren't that many photos of dirty shoeson the Internet. Who knew?These aren't really my dirty shoes but what the hell?
July 21, 2013
Stuff OR An Asparagus Related Blog
Today I was thinking about writing a blog about writing a blog. Then I relented and thought about writing a blog about my daughter's moron cat. Then I thought about writing a blog about the fact that it's raining cats and dogs outside. Then I wanted to write a blog about the fact that my husband won't try a piece of asparagus because he has determined that asparagus is yucky poo and yet he tells our only child that she must chew and swallow at least one bite of new foods. (Somewhere HIM is getting antsy because he heard the A word.) So I did.
Who knew there's an asparagus festival in
Michigan?
This is probably the asparagus queen.So I'm probably going to make fun of HIM for the remainder of this blog. Why? It's funny to me and it's my blog.
Of course, this is always fun, playing with autosketch and photographs.
Of course, it may not end for awhile.
Not sure where I was going with this.
I thought a flying asparagus was funny.
Maybe it's the muscle relaxers.It turns out I have lots of photographs I can use for this theme. (This is something that will probably haunt HIM forever.)
Just for a conversational difference, I'll insert something different.
There's something very funny about these asparagi or is it asparaguses?
Hmm.But back to the theme of today's blog. (It's "Asparagus is our funny but nutritional friend." OR it's "How much can I tease HIM with pictures of asparagus inserted into pictures with him?")
Okay I think I'm almost all tapped out. Whoops. One more.
Baby got asparagus.
Okay, one more.
Who knew there's an asparagus festival inMichigan?
This is probably the asparagus queen.So I'm probably going to make fun of HIM for the remainder of this blog. Why? It's funny to me and it's my blog.
Of course, this is always fun, playing with autosketch and photographs.
Of course, it may not end for awhile.
Not sure where I was going with this.I thought a flying asparagus was funny.
Maybe it's the muscle relaxers.It turns out I have lots of photographs I can use for this theme. (This is something that will probably haunt HIM forever.)
Just for a conversational difference, I'll insert something different.
There's something very funny about these asparagi or is it asparaguses?Hmm.But back to the theme of today's blog. (It's "Asparagus is our funny but nutritional friend." OR it's "How much can I tease HIM with pictures of asparagus inserted into pictures with him?")
Okay I think I'm almost all tapped out. Whoops. One more.
Baby got asparagus.Okay, one more.
July 14, 2013
The Guide to the Fat Woman Blog OR How You're in the Know
I've been blogging for a few years now. My blogs usually have some sort of theme, although I go off track frequently. (Off track, on a tangent, going south, you name it.) Some people might not be willing to go back and read old blogs. (Although you'd be missing some very good ones. My particular favorite is The Stupidest Man Ever, but there's a few others that I'm fond of. The Mystery of the Funky Green Poop stands out. Super Deodorant Power et al is a particularly powerful commentary on why Fat Woman shouldn't be allowed in any supermarket. But hey you can decide for yourselves.)
It therefore occurs to me that newer readers might not know all the individuals/subjects/rants that I commonly attack, er, molest, er, discuss. Here they are, in no particular order.
Okay, this isn't a picture of me.
I've never actually owned a fur
bikini.1. Writer, moi. If any of you all don't know that I'm a honest to gosh writer, then you should rush out and buy all of my books. (Seriously, right now. Mommy needs a new retaining wall for her deck which may or may not be falling down at any moment.) Occasionally I will talk about reviews but I'm not supposed to read them. For example, reading "Her Throbbing Question" on Amazon which is about one of my paranormal romances is always good for a giggle. See that here. Feel free to comment. I do use the blog to make announcements about my writing, usually when something new comes out.
Still not me, but in the eighties I used to have big,
poofy hair and used sparkly purple hair gel. I wish
I had a picture of that, but Easter egg woman
will have to suffice. Savor the pastel moment.
Savor it, I said. (I suspect you're not really
savoring it, but I'll let it go.)2. I like to rant. (I LOVE TO RANT.) I believe blogging is a way of letting everything out. (Therapeutic blogging = good for you. Well, good for me.) Occasionally I'm forced to come back and delete the blog. (I've done that three or four times.) I usually have the husbandly one, also known as HIM, look over my shoulder and make sure I'm not crossing a line. This is especially good because I've been known to rant about HIM on more than one occasion. My favorite subjects of rantery as follows (and I make up words.) a. home improvement contractors, b. doctors, c. dentists, d. poor customer service, e. HIM, the man to whom I'm married, f. my daughter's moron cat, who really is a moron, g. crappy neighbors, h. weird things that happen to me in stores, malls, and just about anywhere I'm happening to be shopping. (The song from The Sound of Music just popped into my head. "These are a few of my favorite things...")
Okay, it's not really me, but
on certain days, it could be me.
HIM once compared me to Bigfoot
and I've NEVER let him forget it,
thus I feel compelled to throw it
in here. As I've said before, gentlemen,
never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever
and ever more, compare your
significant other to a Bigfoot.
(Just telling ya. It's the safest
thing to do.)3. HIM, the one whom I'm pledged not to reveal his name, although I've probably done it anyway. I think there was an initial agreement that I wouldn't use his name and HIM started to be the substitute. But anyone who reads the blog, or Facebook, or my books, knows it because it's plastered all over it.
Still isn't me. It's HIM in a rare
moment where he's communing
with beer and a balloon under
his t-shirt. No, that beer
doesn't make your butt look big.HIM is a frequent target of my blogs because he is also Pain-in-the-Ass Man, whose most powerful superpower is the ability to piss me off in three words or less. (Sometimes he goes for the gusto and does it in fifteen words or less. See Pain in the Ass Man Rides Again.)
Yeah, not me again. But it could be me. I think I look
like this first thing in the morning.4. My daughter. She's nine now and her name is Cressy. So far she doesn't mind if she's in the blog. That'll probably change in the next few years. ("MOTHER! How could you? How could you? I'm running away to Bolivia with a biker named Shishkabob.") (Now I want to name a character Shishkabob.)
Isn't that just the cutest thing ever?
A French fried walrus
or possibly
a French fried vampire.
It was McDonalds. Anything
goes there. Have I blogged about
McDonalds before? I was once
banned from a McDonalds
in Manassas, VA.
(It was totally worth it.)She also tells me stories that I occasionally illustrate like The Attack of Alligator Girl and the Zombie Kids, which if you don't read, you're really missing out. That was followed by The Return of Alligator Girl, which for a sequel was pretty darn good. Occasionally she tells me something messed up like her rationalization for the formation of the universe. Or my personal favorite of how mountains are really formed. (Giant space mosquitoes came down and stung the earth. Pretty cool, huh?) I don't like to pick on her much because I'm afraid she'll grow up, read all the old blogs, and decides she hates me. (Funny how that doesn't matter with HIM, doctors, or contractors, huh?)
This is a computer drawing from Cressy and also not me.
Here she puts her artistic spin on the moron cat.
She really doesn't think he's a moron, but she
knows that I think he's stupid. She thinks
I'm going to hurt his feelings if I keep it up.
So shhh.5. Also I blog about my in-laws, although I'm not supposed to. (Sorry Mom. It's like an obsession.) I throw my sister under the bus upon occasion. (I can't help it.) My sister has a cat named Mellow who has starred in more than one of my blogs. In fact, Mellow's due for a comeback.
One of my favorite pictures of Mellow.(Mellow is a cat of goodly size who doesn't seem to like anyone. I tried to bribe her with food but it didn't work. Also she sounds like the Cat of the Baskervilles when she meows. I'm not sure how to write that. Try to imagine a hound baying on a swampy moor, except with a meow.)
So thusly you get the idea and most of you will be caught up and in the know.
Yes, this is me. In a cave hiding behind
the stalactites.Come back next week. Same bat time, same bat channel. (Or possibly a few days either way.)
It therefore occurs to me that newer readers might not know all the individuals/subjects/rants that I commonly attack, er, molest, er, discuss. Here they are, in no particular order.
Okay, this isn't a picture of me.I've never actually owned a fur
bikini.1. Writer, moi. If any of you all don't know that I'm a honest to gosh writer, then you should rush out and buy all of my books. (Seriously, right now. Mommy needs a new retaining wall for her deck which may or may not be falling down at any moment.) Occasionally I will talk about reviews but I'm not supposed to read them. For example, reading "Her Throbbing Question" on Amazon which is about one of my paranormal romances is always good for a giggle. See that here. Feel free to comment. I do use the blog to make announcements about my writing, usually when something new comes out.
Still not me, but in the eighties I used to have big,poofy hair and used sparkly purple hair gel. I wish
I had a picture of that, but Easter egg woman
will have to suffice. Savor the pastel moment.
Savor it, I said. (I suspect you're not really
savoring it, but I'll let it go.)2. I like to rant. (I LOVE TO RANT.) I believe blogging is a way of letting everything out. (Therapeutic blogging = good for you. Well, good for me.) Occasionally I'm forced to come back and delete the blog. (I've done that three or four times.) I usually have the husbandly one, also known as HIM, look over my shoulder and make sure I'm not crossing a line. This is especially good because I've been known to rant about HIM on more than one occasion. My favorite subjects of rantery as follows (and I make up words.) a. home improvement contractors, b. doctors, c. dentists, d. poor customer service, e. HIM, the man to whom I'm married, f. my daughter's moron cat, who really is a moron, g. crappy neighbors, h. weird things that happen to me in stores, malls, and just about anywhere I'm happening to be shopping. (The song from The Sound of Music just popped into my head. "These are a few of my favorite things...")
Okay, it's not really me, buton certain days, it could be me.
HIM once compared me to Bigfoot
and I've NEVER let him forget it,
thus I feel compelled to throw it
in here. As I've said before, gentlemen,
never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever
and ever more, compare your
significant other to a Bigfoot.
(Just telling ya. It's the safest
thing to do.)3. HIM, the one whom I'm pledged not to reveal his name, although I've probably done it anyway. I think there was an initial agreement that I wouldn't use his name and HIM started to be the substitute. But anyone who reads the blog, or Facebook, or my books, knows it because it's plastered all over it.
Still isn't me. It's HIM in a raremoment where he's communing
with beer and a balloon under
his t-shirt. No, that beer
doesn't make your butt look big.HIM is a frequent target of my blogs because he is also Pain-in-the-Ass Man, whose most powerful superpower is the ability to piss me off in three words or less. (Sometimes he goes for the gusto and does it in fifteen words or less. See Pain in the Ass Man Rides Again.)
Yeah, not me again. But it could be me. I think I looklike this first thing in the morning.4. My daughter. She's nine now and her name is Cressy. So far she doesn't mind if she's in the blog. That'll probably change in the next few years. ("MOTHER! How could you? How could you? I'm running away to Bolivia with a biker named Shishkabob.") (Now I want to name a character Shishkabob.)
Isn't that just the cutest thing ever?A French fried walrus
or possibly
a French fried vampire.
It was McDonalds. Anything
goes there. Have I blogged about
McDonalds before? I was once
banned from a McDonalds
in Manassas, VA.
(It was totally worth it.)She also tells me stories that I occasionally illustrate like The Attack of Alligator Girl and the Zombie Kids, which if you don't read, you're really missing out. That was followed by The Return of Alligator Girl, which for a sequel was pretty darn good. Occasionally she tells me something messed up like her rationalization for the formation of the universe. Or my personal favorite of how mountains are really formed. (Giant space mosquitoes came down and stung the earth. Pretty cool, huh?) I don't like to pick on her much because I'm afraid she'll grow up, read all the old blogs, and decides she hates me. (Funny how that doesn't matter with HIM, doctors, or contractors, huh?)
This is a computer drawing from Cressy and also not me.Here she puts her artistic spin on the moron cat.
She really doesn't think he's a moron, but she
knows that I think he's stupid. She thinks
I'm going to hurt his feelings if I keep it up.
So shhh.5. Also I blog about my in-laws, although I'm not supposed to. (Sorry Mom. It's like an obsession.) I throw my sister under the bus upon occasion. (I can't help it.) My sister has a cat named Mellow who has starred in more than one of my blogs. In fact, Mellow's due for a comeback.
One of my favorite pictures of Mellow.(Mellow is a cat of goodly size who doesn't seem to like anyone. I tried to bribe her with food but it didn't work. Also she sounds like the Cat of the Baskervilles when she meows. I'm not sure how to write that. Try to imagine a hound baying on a swampy moor, except with a meow.)So thusly you get the idea and most of you will be caught up and in the know.
Yes, this is me. In a cave hiding behindthe stalactites.Come back next week. Same bat time, same bat channel. (Or possibly a few days either way.)
July 4, 2013
Home Improvement Hell OR I Couldn't NOT Blog About It
So we went back to Virginia to see about our old house, which is now our rental house. This is a nine hour drive. All went fairly well. The kid was occupied with the Xoom, the dsi, and watching Meet the Robinsons. At the end, however, we were entertained with renditions of The Death March, the Star Spangled Banner, and an unnamed tune, all sung to a chorus of meows. No words. Just meows. I think that was the part where I flung myself out of the car and into a ditch while the car was going 70 MPH. (No, wait. I just imagined doing that. I didn't really do it.) (Somewhere my mother is giggling in her grave. "I told you one day you would have a child just like you and I would laugh," her ghost said at that moment.)
We counted 15 VW Beetles and 19 Cracker Barrels along the 679 mile trip. Next time, I think I will make a column for all the fast food restaurants. There was a slew of Wendys, a tribe of McDonalds, a spattering of Sonics, and a butt load of Burger Kings. That is a shitload of French fries, let me tell you.
Upon arriving at the motel, we ate (from Wendys), and the kid wanted to go swimming in the pool. (Of course.) The motel had mysteriously lost its hot tub since the last time we were there. (We spent a few days there last year and a whopping 57 days there when we moved to Virginia and were house hunting. You'd think those people would remember us. Really.) They lost the hot tub and the buffet and added a Starbucks. A Starbucks INSIDE a motel. (I'm relating Starbucks to The Invasion of the Body Snatchers now except with vente lattes instead of pods. Very insidious.)
The next day we headed to our old house, hoping that all would be well. All was mostly well. I was surprised that it was so well. I should be thankful. The tenants swiped the shower curtain rings and the washing machine hoses but amazingly all was whole and without holes in the walls. Two closet doors were broken and a knob had mysteriously vanished, but hey, it wasn't too bad.
Then the dryer vent cleaner people came. That was okay. They also did the chimney.
Then the water heater guy came. Although I had already paid for it, it was the water heater that keeps on paying. Apparently we were so out of code that our water heater might just as well been a log fire and a kettle hung over the top of it. After several hours of banging around while we chopped branches, fixed the closet doors, replaced filters, knobs, and made sure everything was okay, the guy was finished. EXCEPT THE TENANTS HAD THE GAS TURNED OFF and we couldn't test the water heater. AND THE GAS COMPANY COULDN'T TURN THE GAS BACK OUT FOR ANOTHER THREE DAYS. AND THE WATER HEATER GUY JUST KIND OF, SORT OF, MENTIONED, WE WOULD NEED AN INSPECTION AND WE WOULD HAVE TO WAIT FOR IT. Not only would we have to wait for it, but we had an 8 hour block because they couldn't be bothered to narrow it down to a few hours.
I went out to the car to cry.
So after my brief breakdown, we decided to go back to Alabama, where we would rest up and HIM, the man to whom I'm married, would return to Virginia to have the gas company turn on the gas and then he would light the pilot lights so the house wouldn't explode.
HIM went back today and got a speeding ticket for doing 80 MPH in a 70 zone. He said the officer was younger than Cressy. HIM was hoping that I would get a speeding ticket before him so he could giggle over it. I haven't gotten one for thirty years. So much for that.
Anyway, we've already rented the house out. I loathe being a landlord. I wouldn't wish this job on my worst enemy.
Going to see fireworks now. Pretty lights will make everything better. EVERYTHING.
Happy fourth everyone! Don't speed. Also don't park next to a van without windows. Also, don't ever eat yellow snow.
We counted 15 VW Beetles and 19 Cracker Barrels along the 679 mile trip. Next time, I think I will make a column for all the fast food restaurants. There was a slew of Wendys, a tribe of McDonalds, a spattering of Sonics, and a butt load of Burger Kings. That is a shitload of French fries, let me tell you.
Upon arriving at the motel, we ate (from Wendys), and the kid wanted to go swimming in the pool. (Of course.) The motel had mysteriously lost its hot tub since the last time we were there. (We spent a few days there last year and a whopping 57 days there when we moved to Virginia and were house hunting. You'd think those people would remember us. Really.) They lost the hot tub and the buffet and added a Starbucks. A Starbucks INSIDE a motel. (I'm relating Starbucks to The Invasion of the Body Snatchers now except with vente lattes instead of pods. Very insidious.)
The next day we headed to our old house, hoping that all would be well. All was mostly well. I was surprised that it was so well. I should be thankful. The tenants swiped the shower curtain rings and the washing machine hoses but amazingly all was whole and without holes in the walls. Two closet doors were broken and a knob had mysteriously vanished, but hey, it wasn't too bad.
Then the dryer vent cleaner people came. That was okay. They also did the chimney.
Then the water heater guy came. Although I had already paid for it, it was the water heater that keeps on paying. Apparently we were so out of code that our water heater might just as well been a log fire and a kettle hung over the top of it. After several hours of banging around while we chopped branches, fixed the closet doors, replaced filters, knobs, and made sure everything was okay, the guy was finished. EXCEPT THE TENANTS HAD THE GAS TURNED OFF and we couldn't test the water heater. AND THE GAS COMPANY COULDN'T TURN THE GAS BACK OUT FOR ANOTHER THREE DAYS. AND THE WATER HEATER GUY JUST KIND OF, SORT OF, MENTIONED, WE WOULD NEED AN INSPECTION AND WE WOULD HAVE TO WAIT FOR IT. Not only would we have to wait for it, but we had an 8 hour block because they couldn't be bothered to narrow it down to a few hours.
I went out to the car to cry.
So after my brief breakdown, we decided to go back to Alabama, where we would rest up and HIM, the man to whom I'm married, would return to Virginia to have the gas company turn on the gas and then he would light the pilot lights so the house wouldn't explode.
HIM went back today and got a speeding ticket for doing 80 MPH in a 70 zone. He said the officer was younger than Cressy. HIM was hoping that I would get a speeding ticket before him so he could giggle over it. I haven't gotten one for thirty years. So much for that.
Anyway, we've already rented the house out. I loathe being a landlord. I wouldn't wish this job on my worst enemy.
Going to see fireworks now. Pretty lights will make everything better. EVERYTHING.
Happy fourth everyone! Don't speed. Also don't park next to a van without windows. Also, don't ever eat yellow snow.
June 24, 2013
Random Blog Number 257
We're off to do house repair/stuff/maintenance on our old house, which has become the rental house. Why do we have a rental house? The smart answer would be because we make money with it. The bad answer is because the house mortgage is upside-down and we can't afford to sell it. This is very, very sad.
Anyway, tenants are moving out. We are fixing little stuff. (Hopefully.) And voila, the place has a gazillion applicants already. Weird, but good. Let me tell you how much I loathe picking between qualified applicants. One had five cats and one dog. One had a credit score of 300. (I didn't think that was possible.) A couple others I'm not allowed to talk about.
I hope this isn't what we find but I wouldn't
be surprised.And it's bad enough that I have to take care of that house, but also the house we're in. The deck is still tilting. I'm waiting for contractors to get their acts together. Apparently it's too much to expect them to rush right over this instant with a couple of tons of dirt, blocks, and cement to save my ass. I can honestly say I've never had this particular problem with contractors. I feel like I'm waving money in their faces and they're saying, "Yeah, well, that's nice but we're busy with other stuff." Really? Seriously? The landscaping/retaining wall business is so busy that you can not only not return phone calls but turn down thousands of dollars in revenue? REALLY?
Color me Captain Confused.
When contractors go bad.Just when I think we're getting ahead (I need to stop and knock on wood while simultaneously rubbing a rabbit's foot (which wasn't very lucky for the rabbit, now was it?) and maybe throwing some salt over my shoulder.) something else happens.
Upon effing around with the deck, we discovered that little black pooplets were falling down from the attic area on one side. Previously there had been a hole in the fascia board and squirrels inhabiting the area. We got that all taken care of. Then we think, "Uh-oh, the squirrels are back." We do everything we can about that. More pooplets. Then I notice that the cat sits on the ledge of the deck staring up at the ceiling as if the ceiling will give him the answer to the meaning of life. Cat alert! Ah-oo-ga. The cat is staring at the ceiling. Hmm.
Having had rats in the attic (of another house, thank God) before, we think, rats? We do the thing that we need to do.
More pooplets. Even more suspiciously, more cat staring at the attic. Then other cats came to stare. (Not really.) (That would be all twisted to see a big group of cats sitting on my deck, staring at the ceiling.)
One day, HIM, the man to whom I'm married, shines a light up into the crack between the ceiling of the covered deck and the house's wall, and sees something moving. HIM comes to tell me because he loves to share ickiness with me. (It's a married thing.) HIM says, "It's not squirrels. It's not rats. It's...(cue dramatic music here)...bats." I squeal and threaten to move to a bat free country. (Then twenty people told me on Facebook that bats are good and our buddies and I'm being a total twathead.) (Maybe three people. They didn't really say I was being a total twathead. But they were thinking it.)
Okay, this wasn't really in our deck's attic,
but it is funny.And yes, we have bats in our attic space above our deck. We're going to build several bat houses and put them nearby. Then in the fall, (after all the little baby bats can fly) we'll put lights in the little attic space to encourage them to move out.
By the way, Bing and Google have pictures of bat poop so that you can identify the thing that's living in your attic space.
Just so you know what it looks like.
God, I love sharing.I can't help but wonder what's next? Snakes? Gorillas? A horde of rampaging chipmunks?
I'll let you know.
Anyway, tenants are moving out. We are fixing little stuff. (Hopefully.) And voila, the place has a gazillion applicants already. Weird, but good. Let me tell you how much I loathe picking between qualified applicants. One had five cats and one dog. One had a credit score of 300. (I didn't think that was possible.) A couple others I'm not allowed to talk about.
I hope this isn't what we find but I wouldn'tbe surprised.And it's bad enough that I have to take care of that house, but also the house we're in. The deck is still tilting. I'm waiting for contractors to get their acts together. Apparently it's too much to expect them to rush right over this instant with a couple of tons of dirt, blocks, and cement to save my ass. I can honestly say I've never had this particular problem with contractors. I feel like I'm waving money in their faces and they're saying, "Yeah, well, that's nice but we're busy with other stuff." Really? Seriously? The landscaping/retaining wall business is so busy that you can not only not return phone calls but turn down thousands of dollars in revenue? REALLY?
Color me Captain Confused.
When contractors go bad.Just when I think we're getting ahead (I need to stop and knock on wood while simultaneously rubbing a rabbit's foot (which wasn't very lucky for the rabbit, now was it?) and maybe throwing some salt over my shoulder.) something else happens.
Upon effing around with the deck, we discovered that little black pooplets were falling down from the attic area on one side. Previously there had been a hole in the fascia board and squirrels inhabiting the area. We got that all taken care of. Then we think, "Uh-oh, the squirrels are back." We do everything we can about that. More pooplets. Then I notice that the cat sits on the ledge of the deck staring up at the ceiling as if the ceiling will give him the answer to the meaning of life. Cat alert! Ah-oo-ga. The cat is staring at the ceiling. Hmm.
Having had rats in the attic (of another house, thank God) before, we think, rats? We do the thing that we need to do.
More pooplets. Even more suspiciously, more cat staring at the attic. Then other cats came to stare. (Not really.) (That would be all twisted to see a big group of cats sitting on my deck, staring at the ceiling.)
One day, HIM, the man to whom I'm married, shines a light up into the crack between the ceiling of the covered deck and the house's wall, and sees something moving. HIM comes to tell me because he loves to share ickiness with me. (It's a married thing.) HIM says, "It's not squirrels. It's not rats. It's...(cue dramatic music here)...bats." I squeal and threaten to move to a bat free country. (Then twenty people told me on Facebook that bats are good and our buddies and I'm being a total twathead.) (Maybe three people. They didn't really say I was being a total twathead. But they were thinking it.)
Okay, this wasn't really in our deck's attic,but it is funny.And yes, we have bats in our attic space above our deck. We're going to build several bat houses and put them nearby. Then in the fall, (after all the little baby bats can fly) we'll put lights in the little attic space to encourage them to move out.
By the way, Bing and Google have pictures of bat poop so that you can identify the thing that's living in your attic space.
Just so you know what it looks like.God, I love sharing.I can't help but wonder what's next? Snakes? Gorillas? A horde of rampaging chipmunks?
I'll let you know.
June 16, 2013
Random Stuff Again
Well, here it is. Blog day. I'm still sick with THE head cold, which is threatening to turn into something else, which means HIM will threaten me with a doctor's visit. I hate the doctor so I threaten the little cold germs inside my head. ("DAMN YOU TO HELL! MAY A CAMEL POOP SEVEN TIMES IN YOUR BORDEAUX!" Since cold germs probably don't drink Bordeaux, that's kind of silly, but it's my cold so I get to threaten it my way.) That doesn't work very well. I'm still stuffed up. My face is starting to go numb. (That's without all the hot toddies that everyone has been recommending on Facebook, too.) I'm thinking, "This cannot be good." On the positive side NyQuil gives me the most interesting dreams ever. Really.
I was inspired by Jimmy Durante.In other news, I finished the first edit of Mountains of Dreams and now it has passed into the hands of my editor. I probably ruined her weekend. I should have waited until Monday to send it to her. She strikes me as kind of like me and slightly OCD about getting things done, so I probably owe her an apology. Also I already found three mistakes that I didn't catch the first time. I wrote EMT instead of EMP, for Electromagnetic Merry Go Round Pulse. (You know I can't remember what EMP stands for at the moment. Let me check with HIM.) (Okay, HIM is going for a motorcycle ride with our daughter and I'm not allowed to ask questions that will delay his motorcycleness. You all can figure it out for yourselves. Try Google or Bing.)
Bing has cool backgrounds that change every day.
But Google changes their writing to suit the occasion.Which leads me to mention that I've been seeing a lot of commercials from Bing about how much wonderful it is than Google. I CANNOT tell the difference, other than a different random pretty picture on Bing's background every day. Is there something wrong with me? (Probably but everyone already knows that.)
Where was I? Wandering aimlessly, of course. I did say it was going to be random, didn't I?
All righty then.
- We've been watching the first season of Sons of Anarchy. We didn't watch it the first time because our daughter was like three and well, everyone with children knows what that meant. Instead we watched Wall-E fifty-six times. Also we watched Finding Nemo thirty-three times. Tarzan II enjoyed a brief stint of about six to ten times. Anyhoo, and I thought The Sopranos was all Machiavellian. Who would have ever thought Peg Bundy could pull off motorcycle club mama/queen so well? Not me. All I can hear her saying is, "Al!"
Motorcycle megalomaniac?
I dunno.
I couldn't see it until
we finished Season 1.- I'm writing the outline for The Ransom of Brownie (Or until I can think of a better name. Or maybe it should be if I think of a better name.) I will say that watching the Science Channel has been very inspirational. You wouldn't think that would be so for a Bubbaverse novel, but it is so. It's like a hint. Any of you O. Henry fans out there are already onto me.
I should have redone this with a stun gun, but wth?- The airbag sensor light in my Exploder, I mean, Explorer came on yesterday. It turns out that my passenger side airbag may not be working. I Googled/Binged it. (Really I don't care which one I use.) It says that most of these sensor lights come on about at 80,000 miles. Hmm. That would suggest that the sensor light is oh, programmed to come on at a certain time, wouldn't it? Like maybe the company made it that way, so that I would have to drive over to the Ford dealer, wait on my ass for an hour, and pay them at least $100 to reset it, and/or tell me I need a wiring harness or something equally godawful. The last time something broken on the Ford, it cost $1000.
Could be an airbag. Could be a big ball.
Could be testicular elephantitus.- Our deck is still doing a damn impression of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. I'm having issues with getting contractors to come out. Now I've got a few estimates and the estimates seem to be going up exponentially. "$6500, no, I meant $10,000. No, $12,000 and we'll put pine straw down AND we'll bring ice cream." Plus now we have to go deal with contractors with our old house that is being rented. So now I deal with contractors in two different states at the same time. Double the fun. Double the amount of blogging I can do in genuine Fat Woman ranting. I hate doctors. I hate dieting. And I hate contractors. One day I will run into a doctor who is dieting and a contractor and I will be wretchedly screwed. Or I will blow up and have to write Bubba books from jail. Either one.
I think we have the same contractor.Finally, I Googled myself. I got 66,700 results. Then I Binged myself. (This sounds vaguely obscene.) I got to look at a picture of a school of fish twirling around like an underwater tornado and 83,400 results. Go figure. (Oh, I know you've Googled yourself.) (Go ahead. Go do it now and see.)
Off for another hot toddy.
I was inspired by Jimmy Durante.In other news, I finished the first edit of Mountains of Dreams and now it has passed into the hands of my editor. I probably ruined her weekend. I should have waited until Monday to send it to her. She strikes me as kind of like me and slightly OCD about getting things done, so I probably owe her an apology. Also I already found three mistakes that I didn't catch the first time. I wrote EMT instead of EMP, for Electromagnetic Merry Go Round Pulse. (You know I can't remember what EMP stands for at the moment. Let me check with HIM.) (Okay, HIM is going for a motorcycle ride with our daughter and I'm not allowed to ask questions that will delay his motorcycleness. You all can figure it out for yourselves. Try Google or Bing.)
Bing has cool backgrounds that change every day.
But Google changes their writing to suit the occasion.Which leads me to mention that I've been seeing a lot of commercials from Bing about how much wonderful it is than Google. I CANNOT tell the difference, other than a different random pretty picture on Bing's background every day. Is there something wrong with me? (Probably but everyone already knows that.)Where was I? Wandering aimlessly, of course. I did say it was going to be random, didn't I?
All righty then.
- We've been watching the first season of Sons of Anarchy. We didn't watch it the first time because our daughter was like three and well, everyone with children knows what that meant. Instead we watched Wall-E fifty-six times. Also we watched Finding Nemo thirty-three times. Tarzan II enjoyed a brief stint of about six to ten times. Anyhoo, and I thought The Sopranos was all Machiavellian. Who would have ever thought Peg Bundy could pull off motorcycle club mama/queen so well? Not me. All I can hear her saying is, "Al!"
Motorcycle megalomaniac?I dunno.
I couldn't see it until
we finished Season 1.- I'm writing the outline for The Ransom of Brownie (Or until I can think of a better name. Or maybe it should be if I think of a better name.) I will say that watching the Science Channel has been very inspirational. You wouldn't think that would be so for a Bubbaverse novel, but it is so. It's like a hint. Any of you O. Henry fans out there are already onto me.
I should have redone this with a stun gun, but wth?- The airbag sensor light in my Exploder, I mean, Explorer came on yesterday. It turns out that my passenger side airbag may not be working. I Googled/Binged it. (Really I don't care which one I use.) It says that most of these sensor lights come on about at 80,000 miles. Hmm. That would suggest that the sensor light is oh, programmed to come on at a certain time, wouldn't it? Like maybe the company made it that way, so that I would have to drive over to the Ford dealer, wait on my ass for an hour, and pay them at least $100 to reset it, and/or tell me I need a wiring harness or something equally godawful. The last time something broken on the Ford, it cost $1000.
Could be an airbag. Could be a big ball.Could be testicular elephantitus.- Our deck is still doing a damn impression of the Leaning Tower of Pisa. I'm having issues with getting contractors to come out. Now I've got a few estimates and the estimates seem to be going up exponentially. "$6500, no, I meant $10,000. No, $12,000 and we'll put pine straw down AND we'll bring ice cream." Plus now we have to go deal with contractors with our old house that is being rented. So now I deal with contractors in two different states at the same time. Double the fun. Double the amount of blogging I can do in genuine Fat Woman ranting. I hate doctors. I hate dieting. And I hate contractors. One day I will run into a doctor who is dieting and a contractor and I will be wretchedly screwed. Or I will blow up and have to write Bubba books from jail. Either one.
I think we have the same contractor.Finally, I Googled myself. I got 66,700 results. Then I Binged myself. (This sounds vaguely obscene.) I got to look at a picture of a school of fish twirling around like an underwater tornado and 83,400 results. Go figure. (Oh, I know you've Googled yourself.) (Go ahead. Go do it now and see.)Off for another hot toddy.
June 9, 2013
The Tribulations of a Head Cold OR Fat Woman is Sick; Let Us All Lament and Cry Piteously!
Warning: ranting contained within. Don't say you haven't been warned. In fact, don't say that you weren't warned about being warned. In fact, in fact, if you haven't at least cracked a little smile by now, you should just stop reading.
Ah yes. Head cold, possibly sinusitis, with adjuncts into bronchitis and/or pneumonia.
I HATE HEAD COLDS! A head cold is what really wiped out the dinosaurs. Just ask H.G. Wells. (Dinosaurs could have been aliens.)
I'm sneezing and sniffling and my nose hurts and the cat wants me to play with him. I can't win.
I love this movie line.
Colds are like frigging secret spies, determined to RUIN everything. Feeling good? Things going your way? Never fear the COLD VIRUS is here! It doesn't matter that it's summer time or that you haven't seen anyone with a cold for months because it's out to get YOU! Yes, YOU!
Has anyone ever had a cold they liked? Oh, wait I just thought of some of my friends who have allergies and who have told me that it's like having a cold for three months or more. Okay them I have compassion for.
If you're going to have a cold,
at least have the decency
to have the deluxe
007 version.So I was looking at home remedies because not only do I have a cold, but HIM, the man to I'm married, ALSO has a cold. Whoever said togetherness was cute didn't see Fat Woman and HIM together when they both have the cold. (I should just go stay in a closet for three days.)
Really. Usually one of us has the good sense to have the cold first while the other one is mildly compassionate and then the other one takes a cold turn. Never ever ever get colds at the same time. I told our daughter, Cressy, to make us hot toddies, but she said she was going to play Angry Birds Star Wars instead. Hah. Wait until she gets her turn.
Back to the point of home remedies before I get sidetracked again.
I saw the usual standbys with chicken soup, a humidifier, and vitamin C. Then there was: gargling with sage tea. Hmm. Drink lemon juice. (Not lemonade, which I could do) Lemon juice, undiluted and without three cups of sugar in it. I'm pretty sure after the pucker happened, nothing would be going in. Here's a good one. Add chopped garlic to honey and consume it every night. Or cinnamon powder to honey. Oh carp. Brief subject change for humorous purposes. Has everyone not seen what happens when you do the cinnamon challenge? (Of course it didn't involve honey, but I feel obliged to link it here.) (By the way, don't do this. It's bad for you and it's dangerous. Seriously don't do it. Just watch the video and don't do it.)
I watched this and I was going, "Don't do it, dumbass!" I should feel sorry for the woman but I kinda felt like she had it coming. Honestly she has a lot of guts posting it AND she showed all the nasty details. (Not that kind of nasty, potty mind.)
Back to funky remedies. One article mentioned mixing cinnamon, garlic, and cayenne together with lemon juice. Just to cut through those delays, mix them all together and chug-a-lug. I'm not doing it.
I hate colds. I'm making myself a hot toddy and going back to bed where I can snore like Godzilla after a bender in Tokyo.
Hope ya'll don't have my stupid cold. (Go wash your hands. Don't forget to sing the happy birthday song while washing to make sure you washed long enough. Ha. Try to get that out of your head the next time you wash.)
Ah yes. Head cold, possibly sinusitis, with adjuncts into bronchitis and/or pneumonia.
I HATE HEAD COLDS! A head cold is what really wiped out the dinosaurs. Just ask H.G. Wells. (Dinosaurs could have been aliens.)
I'm sneezing and sniffling and my nose hurts and the cat wants me to play with him. I can't win.
I love this movie line.Colds are like frigging secret spies, determined to RUIN everything. Feeling good? Things going your way? Never fear the COLD VIRUS is here! It doesn't matter that it's summer time or that you haven't seen anyone with a cold for months because it's out to get YOU! Yes, YOU!
Has anyone ever had a cold they liked? Oh, wait I just thought of some of my friends who have allergies and who have told me that it's like having a cold for three months or more. Okay them I have compassion for.
If you're going to have a cold,at least have the decency
to have the deluxe
007 version.So I was looking at home remedies because not only do I have a cold, but HIM, the man to I'm married, ALSO has a cold. Whoever said togetherness was cute didn't see Fat Woman and HIM together when they both have the cold. (I should just go stay in a closet for three days.)
Really. Usually one of us has the good sense to have the cold first while the other one is mildly compassionate and then the other one takes a cold turn. Never ever ever get colds at the same time. I told our daughter, Cressy, to make us hot toddies, but she said she was going to play Angry Birds Star Wars instead. Hah. Wait until she gets her turn.
Back to the point of home remedies before I get sidetracked again.
I saw the usual standbys with chicken soup, a humidifier, and vitamin C. Then there was: gargling with sage tea. Hmm. Drink lemon juice. (Not lemonade, which I could do) Lemon juice, undiluted and without three cups of sugar in it. I'm pretty sure after the pucker happened, nothing would be going in. Here's a good one. Add chopped garlic to honey and consume it every night. Or cinnamon powder to honey. Oh carp. Brief subject change for humorous purposes. Has everyone not seen what happens when you do the cinnamon challenge? (Of course it didn't involve honey, but I feel obliged to link it here.) (By the way, don't do this. It's bad for you and it's dangerous. Seriously don't do it. Just watch the video and don't do it.)
I watched this and I was going, "Don't do it, dumbass!" I should feel sorry for the woman but I kinda felt like she had it coming. Honestly she has a lot of guts posting it AND she showed all the nasty details. (Not that kind of nasty, potty mind.)
Back to funky remedies. One article mentioned mixing cinnamon, garlic, and cayenne together with lemon juice. Just to cut through those delays, mix them all together and chug-a-lug. I'm not doing it.
I hate colds. I'm making myself a hot toddy and going back to bed where I can snore like Godzilla after a bender in Tokyo.
Hope ya'll don't have my stupid cold. (Go wash your hands. Don't forget to sing the happy birthday song while washing to make sure you washed long enough. Ha. Try to get that out of your head the next time you wash.)
June 2, 2013
The Perils of Finishing a Book
Recently I explained where I got my ideas from. (Something about magical fairy aliens sprinkling them on my idea like pixie dust. Don't sue me, Disney.) I was thinking about the book I'm wrapping up now. It's the second book in a series. I don't think there will be a third one, but I won't say it for sure.
The first one, Sea of Dreams, is now free on Amazon. On B&N. And on Smashwords. (Sorry to my UK fans. I'll post it as soon as they catch up to the free price.) Hopefully people will read the first one, become hopelessly hooked, and move on to the second one, Mountains of Dreams.
This is the one I'm trying to finish.
But I have so much help.
I put earphones on. Someone comes up to me and stands there, looking at me. LOOKING at me. Silently willing me to look back, until I am compelled to do so. Resistance, as the Borg are inclined to say, is futile.
This is part of the perils of writing on the weekend. But it wasn't done yet.
So not done yet.
I wanted to write, yet....
But it wasn't just them.
You'd think I could get a few sentences in there somewhere. But no-oooh.
Still not done.
And thus I gave up for the day.
The first one, Sea of Dreams, is now free on Amazon. On B&N. And on Smashwords. (Sorry to my UK fans. I'll post it as soon as they catch up to the free price.) Hopefully people will read the first one, become hopelessly hooked, and move on to the second one, Mountains of Dreams.
This is the one I'm trying to finish.
But I have so much help.
I put earphones on. Someone comes up to me and stands there, looking at me. LOOKING at me. Silently willing me to look back, until I am compelled to do so. Resistance, as the Borg are inclined to say, is futile.
This is part of the perils of writing on the weekend. But it wasn't done yet.
So not done yet.
I wanted to write, yet....
But it wasn't just them.
You'd think I could get a few sentences in there somewhere. But no-oooh.
Still not done.
And thus I gave up for the day.
May 26, 2013
Attack of the Home Improvement Gremlins
Warning: Ranting may occur in the contents of this blog. Home Improvement + Fat Woman = ranting. Yea, there shall be ranting in the valley.
The house the way it's supposed to be.
(Not exactly to scale.)Recently we had some work done to our house. This is always a fun experience because it's like a vicious cycle. You see having something fixed in this house ALWAYS leads to having something else fixed. Usually the something else fixed is expensive. I'll give an example. Contractor A walks in, says, "Great, I'll get to work.", works. Then comes back for the payment and says, "Did you know your deck is pulling away from your house?" Our response is: "Why no, we didn't." Contractor A, who also builds decks, says, "If it keeps doing that, you'll have to have it torn down, and another one built. The footers were put in wrong and erosion is making them move." We say, "Oh, fab. We were already planning on eating Top Ramen and two day old bread for the next year anyway."
The house the way the contractor says it is.So we think about it and we think about it. (Which hurt. I'm not actually supposed to think about stuff I don't want to think about.) We fixed most of the drainage issues. (Haha. It's like a Dutch dam. Water keeps popping out of the holes you don't have your fingers in.)
I googled "Finger in the dyke" to look at
pictures of little Dutch boys sticking their
fingers in dams. You wouldn't believe what
I got. I should think more carefully about
search terms in the future.At first I think, we'll dig out the concrete supports and put better ones in, all the while, the upper deck magically stays in place by itself. Or we could get magical animals to hold it up while we pour the footers.
Oh, that niggling problem with physics and gravity. Damn you, Sir Isaac Newton. I hope you never invent a Fig Newton. (Okay, I know. Newton does not equal Fig Newton. I'm not sure if that apple really bonked him on the head.)
(Hell and damnation, now I'm going to have to go look at the proper spelling of Isaac Newton to make sure I got it right. I worship Google. Also Bing. Except when I'm searching for fingers in a dyke.)
Bad laws of gravity. So I think, what can I do to keep the supports from slipping down the hill? Elephants? Nuclear tainted super chipmunks?
Say the hell with having a deck, knock it down and put up a nice set of steps? (I like the covered deck. It's one of the things I like most about this house. You can go out, have a cup of tea, listen to the birds, escape HIM and HER, which is now what I'm calling my post-school, summer vacayed kid.) (The kid is on summer break. She does not understand that Mommy must write. Things clash. Very sad. This is only the second day of summer vacay. I have two chapters left to write in this book. Veins in my forehead might explode.)
I know. Nothing to do with anything, but while I
was looking for pictures of flying monsters I found
the Flying Spaghetti Monster.
Apparently, he has a lot of followers.
Very weird.No, it finally came to me while I was asleep. Apparently I haven't got anything better to dream about. A retaining wall built around the bottom of the supports will keep them from moving, and it shouldn't cost that much. (Hahaha. I said that, I actually said that, before we got some estimates.)
Next plan of action, acquiring estimates. I called eight contractors. EIGHT fricking contractors. One called me back promptly and came out to give me an estimate. He got an idea of what I wanted, made some suggestions and then said, "This is going to cost a lot." Me: "Define a lot." Him: "Oh, about eight to ten." Me: "Eight to ten what?" Him, cringing in anticipation: "Eight to ten thousand." Me, much later, after I woke up: "But it's just a wall." (This was more like a wail.) More wailing ensued: "We're going to have a wall that's worth more than my car? Wahhhhhh." He then went onto explain why it would cost so much, adding, "But I'm just guessing at this point. I'll do up an estimate and email it to you."
So whilst I was waiting for that, I waited for the other seven contractors to call. They did not call. In fact, no one called. The first one didn't even call back. I called him twice to get him going. He finally sent me an estimate and it was for $6500. I think I was supposed to be relieved that it wasn't eight to ten. (THOUSAND!)
I called back the other contractors. One eventually called me back, three weeks later. By that time I had moved onto the five next contractors on my list. The deck guy who originally told us about the deck pulling away from the house, mentioned that he had a friend who does retaining walls. His name is Guido and he doesn't take checks, Visa, or MasterCard. In fact, he doesn't take consecutive number bills and prefers twenties. I think I saw him before on a poster at the Post Office. Maybe.
So we finally got one to agree to do the work. Allegedly. It's supposed to happen next month. We'll see.
Last week during a storm, water started pouring out of the electrical box outside. Let's just say I was alarmed. Electricity + water = badness. Shocky, my-hair-will-look-like-Bride-of-Frankenstein badness. We called the city and the city sent out a water department guy. Maybe she thought the water department guy was best suited to deal with the water pouring out of an electrical outlet box. I do not know. The next day we called the city back and specifically asked for the guys who deal with electrical issues to come out. He did and said he sees this all the time when it rains because the junction boxes are uphill from the house. The water goes into the junction box and comes out on the lower end (my house's electrical outlet box) like a like electrical waterfall of doom. (Don't touch it.) He even opened up the box and showed me that the pipe that contains the wires was still full of water. (IN WHAT FREAKING UNIVERSE CAN THIS BE A GOOD THING?) The gist of the conversation was not to worry about it until the water goes so high in the box and reaches the hot spots. The utilities guy used the phrase "hot spots". I did not. So since I cannot open this box (It's sealed shut so people can't mess with their utilities numbers and cheat the city out of revenues.) I'm not going to be able to see this happening until it explodes. This leads me to a YouTube video I saw last night that will demonstrate what happens when electricity does bad things.
Onto the next contractor.
The house the way it's supposed to be.(Not exactly to scale.)Recently we had some work done to our house. This is always a fun experience because it's like a vicious cycle. You see having something fixed in this house ALWAYS leads to having something else fixed. Usually the something else fixed is expensive. I'll give an example. Contractor A walks in, says, "Great, I'll get to work.", works. Then comes back for the payment and says, "Did you know your deck is pulling away from your house?" Our response is: "Why no, we didn't." Contractor A, who also builds decks, says, "If it keeps doing that, you'll have to have it torn down, and another one built. The footers were put in wrong and erosion is making them move." We say, "Oh, fab. We were already planning on eating Top Ramen and two day old bread for the next year anyway."
The house the way the contractor says it is.So we think about it and we think about it. (Which hurt. I'm not actually supposed to think about stuff I don't want to think about.) We fixed most of the drainage issues. (Haha. It's like a Dutch dam. Water keeps popping out of the holes you don't have your fingers in.)
I googled "Finger in the dyke" to look at pictures of little Dutch boys sticking their
fingers in dams. You wouldn't believe what
I got. I should think more carefully about
search terms in the future.At first I think, we'll dig out the concrete supports and put better ones in, all the while, the upper deck magically stays in place by itself. Or we could get magical animals to hold it up while we pour the footers.
Oh, that niggling problem with physics and gravity. Damn you, Sir Isaac Newton. I hope you never invent a Fig Newton. (Okay, I know. Newton does not equal Fig Newton. I'm not sure if that apple really bonked him on the head.)
(Hell and damnation, now I'm going to have to go look at the proper spelling of Isaac Newton to make sure I got it right. I worship Google. Also Bing. Except when I'm searching for fingers in a dyke.)
Bad laws of gravity. So I think, what can I do to keep the supports from slipping down the hill? Elephants? Nuclear tainted super chipmunks?
Say the hell with having a deck, knock it down and put up a nice set of steps? (I like the covered deck. It's one of the things I like most about this house. You can go out, have a cup of tea, listen to the birds, escape HIM and HER, which is now what I'm calling my post-school, summer vacayed kid.) (The kid is on summer break. She does not understand that Mommy must write. Things clash. Very sad. This is only the second day of summer vacay. I have two chapters left to write in this book. Veins in my forehead might explode.)
I know. Nothing to do with anything, but while Iwas looking for pictures of flying monsters I found
the Flying Spaghetti Monster.
Apparently, he has a lot of followers.
Very weird.No, it finally came to me while I was asleep. Apparently I haven't got anything better to dream about. A retaining wall built around the bottom of the supports will keep them from moving, and it shouldn't cost that much. (Hahaha. I said that, I actually said that, before we got some estimates.)
Next plan of action, acquiring estimates. I called eight contractors. EIGHT fricking contractors. One called me back promptly and came out to give me an estimate. He got an idea of what I wanted, made some suggestions and then said, "This is going to cost a lot." Me: "Define a lot." Him: "Oh, about eight to ten." Me: "Eight to ten what?" Him, cringing in anticipation: "Eight to ten thousand." Me, much later, after I woke up: "But it's just a wall." (This was more like a wail.) More wailing ensued: "We're going to have a wall that's worth more than my car? Wahhhhhh." He then went onto explain why it would cost so much, adding, "But I'm just guessing at this point. I'll do up an estimate and email it to you."
So whilst I was waiting for that, I waited for the other seven contractors to call. They did not call. In fact, no one called. The first one didn't even call back. I called him twice to get him going. He finally sent me an estimate and it was for $6500. I think I was supposed to be relieved that it wasn't eight to ten. (THOUSAND!)
I called back the other contractors. One eventually called me back, three weeks later. By that time I had moved onto the five next contractors on my list. The deck guy who originally told us about the deck pulling away from the house, mentioned that he had a friend who does retaining walls. His name is Guido and he doesn't take checks, Visa, or MasterCard. In fact, he doesn't take consecutive number bills and prefers twenties. I think I saw him before on a poster at the Post Office. Maybe.
So we finally got one to agree to do the work. Allegedly. It's supposed to happen next month. We'll see.
Last week during a storm, water started pouring out of the electrical box outside. Let's just say I was alarmed. Electricity + water = badness. Shocky, my-hair-will-look-like-Bride-of-Frankenstein badness. We called the city and the city sent out a water department guy. Maybe she thought the water department guy was best suited to deal with the water pouring out of an electrical outlet box. I do not know. The next day we called the city back and specifically asked for the guys who deal with electrical issues to come out. He did and said he sees this all the time when it rains because the junction boxes are uphill from the house. The water goes into the junction box and comes out on the lower end (my house's electrical outlet box) like a like electrical waterfall of doom. (Don't touch it.) He even opened up the box and showed me that the pipe that contains the wires was still full of water. (IN WHAT FREAKING UNIVERSE CAN THIS BE A GOOD THING?) The gist of the conversation was not to worry about it until the water goes so high in the box and reaches the hot spots. The utilities guy used the phrase "hot spots". I did not. So since I cannot open this box (It's sealed shut so people can't mess with their utilities numbers and cheat the city out of revenues.) I'm not going to be able to see this happening until it explodes. This leads me to a YouTube video I saw last night that will demonstrate what happens when electricity does bad things.
Onto the next contractor.
May 19, 2013
Stuff in my Life OR the Rant of Fat Woman Returns
I'm not sure where to begin.
Oh, yes I am.
HIM, otherwise known as my husband, and also sometimes known as Pain in the Ass Man, (and not in a good way), went to the doctor a little while back. Why you might ask. HIM had a pinched nerve. Normally I would be compassionate and sympathetic, having had pinched nerves before, but, but but... Okay, I call him on his cell phone to see how it's going at the doctor's office and HIM says, "Well, the doctor is concerned that my spine is weird and he's giving me an X-ray, and making recommendations for specialists and some other stuff." HIM comes home with all these special instructions and medication up the hoo-ha. (There's enough muscle relaxers to take out a small country. Also I think they wrapped him in bubble wrap, but he took it off before he came inside the house.) So what is the problem?
I went to the same exact doctor last year. SAME EXACT DOCTOR. Yes. With a pinched nerve. Do you know what I got?
HIM: "I have a pinched nerve booboo." "OMG! Mr. Bevill, let us massage your neck muscles! Let us take an X-ray! Would you like to rest and relax while we call an ambulance to take you to the next room over? Would you like a margarita? That nurse's name is Pinchy Cheeks Mary and she's very good at patient relaxation techniques! Have some drugs! Have some more drugs!"
How the Medical Doctor interprets
where the male patient points.Me: "I have a pinched nerve booboo." "Whateveh. Do some back exercises. Take some ibuprofen. Loose some weight. Don't let the door hit you on the ass on the way out."
How the Medical Doctor interprets
where the female patient points.
Really. The only good thing is that now I have HIM's extra muscle relaxers so that I can take some the next time that nerve in my back decides to go all hinky.
Subject change: The evil perpetrating raccoon in our back yard has been captured and put into the Raccoon Relocation Program. (HIM came up with that one.) The problem: there's at least one more hanging out back. They know where the bird feeder is and they're not afraid to unscrew the top to get to the seeds inside. Dammit.
So we got a humane trap and caught one. It was relocated to a safe spot where it could roam, and steal, and cavort to its little heart's content. Happily I put the bird seed back out. The next day there were little raccoon footprints all over the place and an empty bird feeder. (I swear I heard evil raccoon laughter coming from the woods. Bwa-ha-ha-ha!)
It looked like this except ALL OVER EVERY PART of the deck.
The only good part was that the coon could not open the bear proof garbage can with
the bird seed inside. I was mildly surprised that the coons
hadn't carted the garbage can down the stairs and rolled
it out into the woods.I am certain that raccoon number 1 did not hitch a ride back from the wilderness sanctuary where he/she/it was deposited some twenty miles away, so guess what, we have more than one.
The next day we catch the other one. He's transported to where the first one went. We read the Wikipedia entry in detail, hoping that the author is a real animal specialist. Turns out sometimes they live in groups of up to four. (The raccoons, not the animal specialists in case some of you were wondering.) Glorioski.
Pretty sure this one is watching from the woods out back,
planning how to get us back. Pret sure.And I thought we would just put the cage out there, throw bird seed in it, and voila. Problem solved. Haha. Nothing is ever that easy.
Now my back hurts from carrying the cage around. Maybe it's a pinched nerve. I could take the raccoon to the doctor with me.
Oh I know, it didn't really fit the theme, but I feel guilty about
transporting the raccoons away from their home and I laughed.
Oh, yes I am.
HIM, otherwise known as my husband, and also sometimes known as Pain in the Ass Man, (and not in a good way), went to the doctor a little while back. Why you might ask. HIM had a pinched nerve. Normally I would be compassionate and sympathetic, having had pinched nerves before, but, but but... Okay, I call him on his cell phone to see how it's going at the doctor's office and HIM says, "Well, the doctor is concerned that my spine is weird and he's giving me an X-ray, and making recommendations for specialists and some other stuff." HIM comes home with all these special instructions and medication up the hoo-ha. (There's enough muscle relaxers to take out a small country. Also I think they wrapped him in bubble wrap, but he took it off before he came inside the house.) So what is the problem?
I went to the same exact doctor last year. SAME EXACT DOCTOR. Yes. With a pinched nerve. Do you know what I got?
HIM: "I have a pinched nerve booboo." "OMG! Mr. Bevill, let us massage your neck muscles! Let us take an X-ray! Would you like to rest and relax while we call an ambulance to take you to the next room over? Would you like a margarita? That nurse's name is Pinchy Cheeks Mary and she's very good at patient relaxation techniques! Have some drugs! Have some more drugs!"
How the Medical Doctor interpretswhere the male patient points.Me: "I have a pinched nerve booboo." "Whateveh. Do some back exercises. Take some ibuprofen. Loose some weight. Don't let the door hit you on the ass on the way out."
How the Medical Doctor interpretswhere the female patient points.
Really. The only good thing is that now I have HIM's extra muscle relaxers so that I can take some the next time that nerve in my back decides to go all hinky.
Subject change: The evil perpetrating raccoon in our back yard has been captured and put into the Raccoon Relocation Program. (HIM came up with that one.) The problem: there's at least one more hanging out back. They know where the bird feeder is and they're not afraid to unscrew the top to get to the seeds inside. Dammit.
So we got a humane trap and caught one. It was relocated to a safe spot where it could roam, and steal, and cavort to its little heart's content. Happily I put the bird seed back out. The next day there were little raccoon footprints all over the place and an empty bird feeder. (I swear I heard evil raccoon laughter coming from the woods. Bwa-ha-ha-ha!)
It looked like this except ALL OVER EVERY PART of the deck.The only good part was that the coon could not open the bear proof garbage can with
the bird seed inside. I was mildly surprised that the coons
hadn't carted the garbage can down the stairs and rolled
it out into the woods.I am certain that raccoon number 1 did not hitch a ride back from the wilderness sanctuary where he/she/it was deposited some twenty miles away, so guess what, we have more than one.
The next day we catch the other one. He's transported to where the first one went. We read the Wikipedia entry in detail, hoping that the author is a real animal specialist. Turns out sometimes they live in groups of up to four. (The raccoons, not the animal specialists in case some of you were wondering.) Glorioski.
Pretty sure this one is watching from the woods out back,planning how to get us back. Pret sure.And I thought we would just put the cage out there, throw bird seed in it, and voila. Problem solved. Haha. Nothing is ever that easy.
Now my back hurts from carrying the cage around. Maybe it's a pinched nerve. I could take the raccoon to the doctor with me.
Oh I know, it didn't really fit the theme, but I feel guilty abouttransporting the raccoons away from their home and I laughed.
