Are we back?
I think we’re back.
Sorry about that. I updated without a backup and I’m STILL between computers >.<
Are we back?
I think we’re back.
Sorry about that. I updated without a backup and I’m STILL between computers >.<
I honestly thought I’d be able to put The Bleaching of The Bathroom behind me once I’d moved.
Y’see, in the “old” house, the bathroom was luxuriously huge.
No, bigger than that.
No, I don’t remember the room dimensions. At *least* 8 x 8 for the room itself PLUS a utility closet.
Big enough that the fan that came standard in 1995 doublewides was woefully inadequate at pulling all the damp out of the room, creating the PERFECT environment for scienc-y projects like “how long can I let this mildew grow before I start gagging every time I look at it”.
I kid, I kid. It was longer than that.
I finally realized that the sweet spot was right in line with “seasonal” cleaning – twice a year.
I also realized that scrubbing the walls of a room that big was a request to spend the following day in bed with ice packs on the never-fading back spasm.
Who puts textured wallpaper crap in a BATHROOM??!!??
After spinning my wheels one fine day trying to figure out how many walls I could scrub before pissing my back off, logic hauled off and backhanded me a good one.
I didn’t HAVE to scrub.
I could put a strong bleach solution in a pump sprayer (garden sprayer for some of y’all) and kill it all at once.
FAST FORWARD TO THE PRESENT:
So my current bathroom is a wee speck when compared to the doublewide. I haven’t measured (because honestly, comparing them would probably piss.me.off) but I’m pretty certain that my current bathroom is even smaller than my closet was in the doublewide.
The New House is of the finest 1970s construction. It’s got REALLY good bones, I don’t foresee having to do anything other than paint [touch wood] and general maintenance.
Because the new house is of the finest 1970s construction, it has exactly ZERO exhaust fans in the bathroom. There is an HVAC vent, and there is a window.
Because I tend toward depression, I don’t always want bright lights. I’d rather open the blinds and feel the sun on my skin. This is IMPORTANT because y’all need to know that for the better part of 18 months, the only other light source in my bathroom was
a single lonely 40w (I think? ain’t gettin’ up there to look) bulb
which leads us to where we are today:
with [more than I thought I had] mildewy things growing on the walls.
(I finally broke down and put two more bulbs in the fixture.)
Additionally relevant: I don’t always wear my glasses in the bathroom. I didn’t paint when I moved in, so the bathroom is bluuuuuuuue. I’ve never had a blue bathroom before and I LOVE it. Except the blue makes it really easy to pretend that’s not the Creature from The Black Lagoon growing over the spiderwebs.
Therefore: today between appointments, I shall endeavor to throw open the windows and completely saturate the room ceiling-to-floor with the better part of a gallon of bleach.
Hopefully it works.
Or not as originally conceived, anyway. I had planned to use the Throwback posts to call attention to older writings and maybe give me an opportunity to fill in details that I was too paranoid/depressed/mental to include. Or maybe to actually springboard from that idea to write.
Problem 1 – I bogged myself down in rules, only allowing myself to springboard off posts that were published “on that date”.
Problem 2 – I hit a depressed day or two here and there, which snowballed. Not the actual depression part, but the catching up.
The catching up is a genuine bitch.
Problem 3 – semantics. The plugin I found doesn’t actually generate a post from the data retrieved. It does send an email, but I still have to read the post, try and figure out WTF I was talking about if it’s obscured enough, etc.
All of which is a pain in the ass when you add in the junk from Problems #1 and #2.
And when the bonus insanities of day-to-day life are added in?
All this to say:
I’m workin’ onnit.
Please don’t worry, and/or drop an email if you DO get worried.
It was about this time last year, and I needed to get away. Long weekend, short weekend, something anything. I requested a day off and got it, called a hotel and made some arrangements, and scooted across the state, beach bound.
The weather was supposed to be chilly but nice, in the high 60s and low 70s.
The title of this post is (unfortunately) correct. (Well, that D can remember. We had pictures of Baby Daniel on the beach in FL but they’re trapped in a non-functioning hard drive). I’ve never been able to afford both gas to drive across the state AND a hotel room at the same time. It just so happened that I’d saved my money, so I could FINALLY take them to the beach.
I picked the boys up from school early. D kept asking me “What’s going on??!!??” and J said “One of my classmates said we’re probably going to a funeral”
(Seriously? A funeral. What the….!!!!!!)
It took us a little over FOREVER to get to the beach. Hypnotizing highways called for loud music and sing-alongs. The weather was cooler than I’d expected, more cloudy and overcast. And yes, it rained on the way there.
We pulled into the hotel parking lot, checked in, and immediately scooted to the beach in the dark. Our hotel was right there at the pier, so we had that beauty to look at.
As Dan stepped onto the beach and took his shoes off, the universe sighed and decided to mess with the child. A flock of birds jumped into the air and turned themselves into (what he thought was) his personal kite. (And truthfully, it did seem they were flying just for him.) He laughed, and it was good.
But the weather, oh the weather. I’d obsessively watched it throughout the week hoping a squall would pass on by. Of course it didn’t; the temps stayed between 68-70F the whole time we were there
We went to the Carolina Beach State Park in search of Venus Flytraps. I grumpily realized we weren’t really prepared for a decent hike around the entire park (we didn’t bring sunscreen, hats, or enough water) but we took a short walk anyway. It was insanely too early for the Venus Flytraps, but the boys found this lovely in NOTIME.
Creatures fall in, but they don’t come out
We went to the Aquarium at Ft Fisher and THIS happened:
The rest of our time was spent in/around/by the ocean and generally relaxing.
The weather stayed cool the entire time we were there…..UNTIL we were loading up to leave. And of COURSE I couldn’t talk the boys into spending the day on the beach and THEN leaving, they were ready to go home NOW.
I am (and always have been) a horrible traveller. As a child I remember having to sit in the front seat because of the horrible horrid motion sickness I would get in the car. Windows down, fan blowing on my face, “lay your head down and close your eyes baby” as we drove across the mountain.
Violently being sick in the car. So sick that I’d exhaust myself and be able to sleep.
As an adult, this dread of travel has manifested itself first in a fear of going places (being afraid to leave the house sucks, y’all. Especially when you need groceries.) and currently, oddly enough, in the desire to actually GO. There’s just one problem:
Planning the trip? Fine.
Packing for the trip? Okay
Time to go? [brakescreech] WAIT HOLDUP I’M NOT READY. All the dishes have to be clean. The trash needs to be taken out. The beds need to be stripped. The oil needs to be changed. The laundry needs to be folded. We need to rip up all the carpets and put new flooring down.
So you’d think making it seem like a “whim” trip that’s just barely planned would be THE thing to do. You’d be wrong wrong so very wrong. Waiting until the last minute to plan things leads to a really sucky trip, full of forgotten things and money spent “at the door” instead of “purchased in advance/online”.
No, I have to pull up my panties and be THE grownup on this trip. (It is, after all, what I do.) All the driving, all the nagging, all the corralling, feeding, nagging. And did I mention nagging?
The boys are just as bad as I am about travelling. Some of it is nature, some of it is simply lack of experience. But mostly they don’t want to go places.
And that, more than anything, is why we must.
In 2004 I was The Window Shopper. My takeaways from that result include “Likely to carry on an romance from afar.” and also “You take love as opportunities come, which can lead to a high-anxiety, but high-flying romantic life.”
In order to understand this result, we need to first look at where I was in life when the test was taken. I’d just celebrated my first “divorce-aversary”, had an 8-month old nursling, and was generally in the throes of PPD. Afraid to leave the house (with or without children), anxious about EVERYTHING, and significantly overweight (in that “You need blood pressure medication and a diuretic for that bloat” kind of way). Finding a partner of ANY type was completely and totally beyond me, and I was OK with that.
The next time I took that test was in 2006, and I was The Priss. “people are often intimidated by you” and choosier than most about your partners. A supportive relationship is what you’re really after.
Obviously coming out of the fog, reasserting my personality, and getting ready to relaunch myself. Researching school, looking for work, somethingANYTHING.
Ten years later, there have been a LOT of changes. I am now THE STILETTO
Edgy. Physical. Devastating. You are The Stiletto, of all types, the most likely to be a dominatrix and the least likely to apologize.
Sex is your object, and you have a LOT of it. Doubtless, you’ve figured out how easy it is for a dominant, assertive woman to have as many and whichever partners as she chooses. You’re in control, you know what you want, and you get it, right there. It’s highly likely you have a nice body, and it’s even more likely we’re getting all turned on right now writing this.
You’re generally careful with your actions and words, but your test answers indicate you’ve hurt some people, drawn some blood. This means one of two things. Either you’re calculating, and pain is just part of your game plan, or hurting the occasional girl is just the unfortunate, but natural, byproduct of your liberated sexual existence.
Our tendency is to believe the latter: you’re willing to engage women on a basic sexual level, and clearly they’re attracted to you. It’s understandable that a few might get overly attached, and sometimes harshness is the only way for you to escape: you’ve got to cut your way out. After all, it’s not emotional bondage you’re looking for right now.
…was the parting comment of a customer. Apparently I’m “intriguing” or something *shrug*
The thing is, I don’t often know what to write about.
Or I know WHAT to write about, but don’t know how.
Or (my all-time favorite) I know what to write about, know how, and OOH SHINY SQUIRREL ON TEH INNERNETZ
I do get bogged down by the /idea/ of a book. Words, deadlines, PRESSURE. (and no, I don’t have a book deal).
But yes, I do have stories, and they will be told.
Yes, I know. I’m veryverybad.
ONWARD!!!! TO THE RETRO!!!!!
== 2011 ==
Basic general update (yes, I mean BASIC)
== 2009 ==
Sick Sick Sick
== 2008 ==
Obviously I needed to learn more about shopping. HAH!
Seriously. Have you EVER not known how to get in touch with me??!!??
== 2006 ==
I have a new cellphone (oooooooh shiiiiiiiny)
If it weren’t for optimism, we’d (both) be goners
Okay, maybe not the WHOLE planet…but it’s an old post full of Good Stuff ™
I was very RAWR when I decided to reboot this lovely Thing. Attitude aplenty and a few ideas that should be enough to sustain, right?
Turns out, I can’t write on the tablet. I mean…the ability is there? but I can’t WRITE write.
I’ll be sitting at my desk at work, have an idea flash across my brain….and then nothing.
And I argue with myself over SMRT things. “Why not just get a bluetooth keyboard for the tablet?” (spending money) “Why not carry the laptop?” (I don’t want it to break. AGAIN.)
So please, bear with me while I figure out the actual rebootening. I’m here, pinkyswear and promise.