I realize that I am everything this little girl despises, but in my defense, the guy I married did come running out at me and I did not have the forethought to prepare for that.
Exorcist
I spent a good part of this week trying and failing to put a screw into the wall using a power screwdriver, a manual screwdriver, telepathy, force of will, and eventually, tearful begging. These tools were enough to get me married but not enough, it seems, to make a one-inch piece of plastic do my bidding. I don’t know, it’s a funny old world.
It did make me wonder: this slang term ‘screwing,’ where did we get that? Do men (and I’m just assuming that most terms for coitus were invented by men) really have so little idea of what’s happening down there that they imagine their junk is rotating a full 360 degrees, all Exorcist-like?
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My take on the film Australia
The emotional resonance of a mother’s reunification with her stolen child is somewhat lessened when the child calls his mother “Mrs. Boss.”
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Lost and Found
Our house is so big that this morning I wandered around for a good five minutes looking for Gene and failing to find him. I’d forgotten too look in one part of the house, which is where he was. Yeah, that’s how big this place is (/stupid I am) — I actually forgot part of the house existed.
Also, I glanced at my Foursquare account while I was searching and it said “Gene was last seen 12 hours ago,” which under those circumstances was a little unsettling.
I found him eventually, but it was maybe not the best beginning for the first Valentine’s Day of our married life.
Success!
About five hours of cleaning (with some time out for laundry) and I have a few pictures to show. You may remember how my workspace looked before…
And now:
I still want to paint and stencil the desk and file cabinet and put my shelves up over my desk, plus of course the room is still a mess on the other side and still curtained with sheets. But it’s a start. Plus, flowers from our yard!
I actually forgot to take pictures of a lot of my work, but I remembered in the living room, and that is my most impressive achievement of the day. Before:
And after:
Did I move those couches by myself? Oh yes, yes I did.
Those flowers on the mantel are also from our yard. We’ve got these enormous lily things sprouting like crazy out there. Also daffodils, clover flowers, and blooming white and pink trees, none of which we’ve done anything to encourage. I love gardening by neglect.
Anyway, I recognize this is not very interesting, but I was quite proud of myself. Our house is still not tidy by any stretch of the imagination, but at least it’s livable again.
Clutterbug
Clutter in our house has reached critical levels. And by clutter, I mean CLUTTER, like we should maybe be on one of those shows where you get made fun of for your compulsions or whatever. We actually have furniture-based clutter, like couches that are more or less piled in the middle of rooms. Do not ask why. I mean, there is a why, but I don’t have time to discuss it. On account of my mission today, which is to de-clutter.
I am taking before and after pictures. If my mission is successful, I will post some results on Monday. If not, I will pretend this post never happened.
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Pillow
In the middle of many (many, many) pending projects, I have at last managed to finish something. Behold, my Pride and Prejudice throw pillows:
These began life as tea towels, part of a wedding gift from the great Maggie and her lovely husband Justin.
I couldn’t keep them as towels because I couldn’t bear to think of anyone wiping her hands on Elizabeth’s face. Or Darcy’s, though of course he does deserve it sometimes.
It’s worth noting that these are not the first fan pillows I have owned. When I was ten, I owned a heart-shaped pink pillow featuring the face of Brandon from 90210. But I understood better how to be a fangirl back then. My walls were papered in the faces of the male heartthrobs from the aforementioned television program, putting my current fangirl status to shame.
Hm, do you think it’s possible to get a poster featuring Darcy, Wickham and Colonel Fitzwilliam? Ideally high-fiving each other on the beach?
WWBD
We’ve got some vacations planned for the next few months, one to the snow and one to the beach. Naturally, I am concentrating on my shopping; as a professional, I keep my head in the game. But how can you shop for two such disparate climes? WWBD?* There has to be a way to make the same outfits work for both situations with just minor adjustments. Has to be. Womankind has not come this far, with the voting and everything, to be stymied now.
Websites suggest that a summer outfit can be winterized (this is a word; ask any swimming pool owner) with the addition of a few extra layers. Floaty summer dress? Add tights. Tank top? Add a sweater. Chilly bare feet? Sheepskin boots. Basically, you will be warm as can be, provided you wear all your clothes over your other clothes. It’s genius, right? I think I’ve got the hang of it. In Mexico, I will wear a bikini. In Boston, a bikini…as underwear. But it’s under a flirty floral dress I bought for Mexico! Which I will be wearing over a padded ski suit I bought for Boston.
There are actually a few things which will work for both places:
– Wetsuit (doubles as thermal underwear!)
– Parka (doubles as beach blanket!)
– Chilblains (doubles as sunburn!)
Looks like I’m all set…
*Barbie.
clutter
What I fondly imagine our house looks like:
What our house really looks like:
Fondly imagine:
Real:
Fond:
Real:
Good thing my eyeballs are so selective.
Frolicsome Gladness
While the rest of the country shivers, I am enjoying our regularly scheduled February heatwave. Cut-offs, cranberry juice and the new issue of Real Simple to read in the yard: bliss. So…why am I in here with the computer again? Oh, right. Rabies.
Yeah, you heard it here first. I was sitting outside enjoying the sunshine and the frolicsome gladness of the thousands of furry little squirrels who use my yard as their stomping grounds when I noticed some frolicking happening near the orange tree that did not look so gladsome. In fact, it looked terrifying. This one squirrel — who, I noticed, was now the only squirrel in the yard, everyone else having silently ditched me, like thanks for letting me know there was a crazy on the loose, you other squirrels — was kind of bouncing back and forth between two tree trunks as if he desperately wanted to climb one and could not. Like he’d forgotten how to be a squirrel. Like he was in the grips of rabies.
His antics took him closer, and I noticed he would periodically do this little, I am not kidding, back flip, like all this rabid energy was just too much and needed an outlet. Naturally, I moved much closer to him and was disturbed to see he had no fear of me at all. (Neither do any of our other squirrels, but still.) Also, was that a little white patch by his mouth? Yes. Was it fur? Well, maybe. Fur, foam…my point here is that both words start with F.
So, yes, I am pretty sure he is rabid, or why would he be so weird? I ask you. I came inside right away, only pausing to read my magazine for another half-hour or so and finish my cranberry juice. He’s still out there somewhere, I assume, unless he left to terrify the elementary school across the street. But he’ll be back.
Well, I guess I am living in fear now. Drag.