Saturday, March 24, 2012

I'm still here!

Wow, it's been too long since I posted. I've had a case of the lazies a lot going on recently, I guess. Right now I've been focusing on spending time with The Hubby rather than anything else. I haven't even spent time with my family since the end of January, but I'll finally be seeing them tomorrow. With this shift, I get up, go to work, get off at around 9 pm, and then had been staying up until about 1 am. A lot of progress is being made on the house; we have a new front door, complete with a bit of a porch, and drywall up and plywood down in the living room. We need to work on the ceiling some, including some new ceiling fans, but after that it should go pretty quick. Plastering, sanding, and getting the floor installed, slap a coat of paint on the walls and it's done! Well, minus furniture... We're revisiting the idea of bean bags as the sole furnishings in the room, considering our income at the moment.

I've also been sick as a dog this past week, and missed a day-and-a-half of work, so next week's check is going to be pretty damn slim. Ah well.

There are just so many changes happening in my life right now, or changes that I know are about to happen, I'm just walking around kind of shell-shocked these days. This year is already going by so fast, I can't believe it's almost the last week of March. That means it's almost April, which is a month away from Josh leaving for boot camp, which for me is the deadline for the house to be finished. I don't want people traipsing through my house without him here, and I'm pretty worried that if he leaves before it's done the work is going to stop anyway, and then we'll either be scrambling to finish it to sell it or having to sell it unfinished. I don't want us to have to do that... We need to make as much money from the sale of this house as possible. Granted, it's not going to fetch us much money, but all I want is enough to pay off our debt. I want as clean of a slate as possible when we go off in this new direction.

Anyway, not much to this post, I just wanted to touch base and let you know that I'm still alive and kickin'!

Wednesday, March 7, 2012


The majestic buffalo. (Or bison, depending on how particular you are.)

Covered in plaster, because he's our rebuild mascot.
This particular little sculpture was supposed to be for luck. The In-Laws had given it to The Hubby when he first got out on his own. It's a hefty old thing, and for the longest time it had been sitting on a shelf on the wall behind our couch, along with a few pictures and some other knick-knacks we possessed. Honestly we're not big on "decorating," so anything like that was of sentimental value and had been given to us from someone we cared about. Although we're still working on the house, any shelves we do put in will be purely for necessities, not looks. Nail holes in the wall would just be something to patch up later when we move, so we're not even worrying about it.

But back to the story, this particular buffalo was meant to be lucky, and I never ever liked it. I was constantly trying to get The Hubby to part with it, to no avail. It was awkward, and heavy, probably 5 pounds, and was always placed in an inconvenient spot. But the spot above the couch was the worst idea ever, in my opinion.

See, the wonder-kitties were always perched on that particular shelf. They'd jump from the windowsill onto the back of the couch onto the shelf then usually down onto one of our surprised shoulders. (Then down onto the stomach or lap then down to the floor, all to be repeated later, but I digress.) But they loved the hell out of that shelf, and trying to get them down always resulted in our pain, so we gave up. This is why I hated the buffalo's location.

Still, it surprised me when it happened. I was sitting on the couch next to The Hubby, watching TV, when one of the kitties jumped up there and while trying to slink behind the buffalo, managed to knock it off the shelf and onto my poor, unsuspecting shoulder. Unsurprisingly, it hurt like hell. That little bastard was heavy, and the edges that aren't rough were sharp, especially around the base. At first The Hubby laughed it off, until he realized I was being quiet because I was holding back tears. It hurt really bad, and it terrified me how close it had been to hitting my head instead of my shoulder. I had a cut and a giant bruise on my shoulder for days, so I wasn't seeing the humor in the situation yet.

Then I did. I mean, what's not amusing about it? I'm just sitting there minding my own business, and suddenly *buffalo!* It became the moment I thought about every time something inexplicable and ridiculous happened. Those moments where you just want to ask the universe "WHY?!", I could shrug off with "Because *buffalo*." It even became a running joke with a friend at work... Anytime things went insane, we'd just look at each other, shake our heads, then shrug our shoulders and say in a resigned voice, "Buffalo!"

Things don't have to make sense. If I can get mauled by a buffalo in my own living room, anything can happen. Because buffalo.

We still have him, by the way. He survived the flood and now I can't bear to part with him. He may be vicious, but he's a survivor, dammit, just like we are.

Monday, March 5, 2012

Drunk ninjas at midnight.

It had been a long day. My ability to sleep has been shoddy at best recently, and I knew I had to get up super-freakin' early the next day. I left work early, and called The Hubby to let him know that I was on my way home but needed to get something quick to eat and go straight to bed, because I'd be getting up at 4am. Usually we roll on into bed around 1 or 2... So I knew it was going to be bad. I got home a little after 9, and after eating and settling down some it was around 10 or 10:30 when I was finally able to try and get to sleep. A couple hours later, I was finally starting to fall asleep.


At first I thought it was one of the cats, somehow. You know how when they're scratching themselves sometimes on the down-stroke their foot slams against whatever they're sitting on? Repeatedly? Every damn time, as if they have no concept of self-control or force? Then I heard the thud of a cat landing on the floor, followed by claws scratching against the kitchen floor as she bolted into the bedroom. Damn Jugga. I was a little startled, but I wouldn't have thought anything of it if hadn't been for other kitty The Pants at the foot of the bed suddenly going on alert. Then I heard the banging again, and The Pants started growling, since she's our alarm system.

Someone was at the door. At 1 am. Aside from my tendency to not answer doors being knocked on by people who didn't show the courtesy of calling first, I was aggravated because of all nights it had to be this night. There wasn't a single person I could think of that would be knocking on our door at that hour without having called us first. And if it had been the police for some reason, they would have announced themselves. At least they should according to television and movies. So my plan was to ignore them until they went away. (It's always worked before.)

Unfortunately, they didn't get the memo and kept knocking. I nudged The Hubby awake, and went to look out the window to see if there was a vehicle out there. There wasn't, so no clues there. And the knocking still hadn't stopped--we weren't going to be able to just ignore this person. Finally, The Hubby goes to answer the door. I stayed huddled on the bed, cell phone in hand, ready to call 911 if necessary. I hear the door open, and then this guy starts talking and won't stop.

I couldn't hear it very well, not being in the same room, but what I did hear alternated between mumbled slurring and clear moments of the utmost sincerity.

"Hey man, mumble mumble mumble I just live right over there, and I just wanted to let you know that if you ever need anything, anything, I'm here for ya. Mumble mumble mumble. I really am a good person, and I just like to help people all the time. I'm always willing to help anybody."  There was more mumbling, and a lot of repetition, and at one point I heard "I'm so sorry, man, I'm not trying to make you mad or anything... Yeah, it is kinda late... But I just wanted you to know..." And more of the same a couple more times. Finally The Hubby comes back in, saying "He's so drunk. He kept pointing and saying he lived right over there, his eye was all busted up, and he kept trying to shake my hand."

Then the fun continued as we tried to figure out where the hell this guy disappeared to. There wasn't a vehicle around, so he wasn't driving (definitely for the best), but still... The Hubby looked out all the windows, trying to see where he had gone. But apparently he had just dropped off the face of the earth. We couldn't see him anywhere. I thought to myself, "Dear Cheezits, clearly he's a drunk ninja." The Hubby kept making a circuit of all the windows, and we were both wide awake. At 1:30 in the morning.

I tried so hard to get to sleep, and he decided to stay up for a little longer. I listened to the shower running, and eventually dozed off. Then I felt something hit and then touch my toes--The Hubby had kicked my foot on accident when he climbed back into bed, and thinking it was a cat he had reached down to make sure it was okay. I eventually dozed off again.

When my alarm went off at 4, I could have screamed. Thanks to a drunk ninja, I turned into a zombie for a day.

Sunday, March 4, 2012

Things from my car.

I am not the neatest or most organized person in the world. Especially when it comes to my car. My car has seen a lot of road trips, fast-food meals, and sports a bizarre collections of napkins, receipts, peppermints, and soda and water bottles. Seriously, there are napkins everywhere. The glove box and console are crammed full. It also contains a plate that had once carried food over to a barbecue a couple years ago, and once returned months later never quite made it back into the house. It did find a new home in the trunk, though, after spending a considerable amount of time in the back seat. At one point my 18-year-old brother was trying to sit in the back seat without breaking anything or contracting any diseases and even he, who leaves a trail of mess everywhere he goes, said "What the fuck, Beth?"

Recently my car also began sporting a funky new smell, which finally convinced me it was time to end my poor vehicle's suffering and clean it out. 

These were the treasures I pulled out.

Except for the cat. She just wouldn't get out of the picture.
In this glorious pile you will note there is a 13-gallon trashbag. It is full of trash pulled out of the car, including the actual trash bag from the tiny trash can I keep stuffed in the floorboard behind the passenger seat to keep the car clean. Ahem. Unfortunately it overflowed long ago. It turns out the ungodly stench was coming from the remains of a Mocha Moolatte from Dairy Queen (my mecca), which had spilled out of the trashcan and into the floorboard. I've spot-cleaned and Febrezed the shit out of it, so here's hoping the smell has been vanquished.

Please also note a scarf, a Bobble (water bottle with a built-in filter, which is awesome when you live in a town with usually yellow or brown water with floaties in it), an old gas bill (paid!), a pair of sandals worn once to change into after being in heels all day, a maroon 3-quarter-sleeve shirt I had changed out of in the car (was wearing a tank top underneath, so no free-boobing occured), a collection of CD cases including Korn, two different Five Finger Death Punch CDs, The Ting Tings (a most unfortunate and highly regretted purchase, I'll admit), and City And Colour. I'm a little inconsistent in favorite musical genres... Underneath that pile is a sweater I had bought for an ugly Christmas sweater party. You can just barely see one of the snowmen on the front of the sweater amidst the other crap. (When purchasing the monstrosity, I ran into a lady I used to work with. She thought it was cute. *facepalm*) Just to the left of that pile you'll see a collection of wrapped-up Coca-Cola glasses from McDonald's (the fourth one is currently being used to hold toothbrushes.) 

The tissue-paper-wrapped package to the left of those contains a couple of Christmas ornaments bought after Christmas that hadn't made it inside yet, either. Then there's the box of something I feel may be car-related, but although it's been happily stationed in MY car for months. The Hubby is keeping pretty vague these days on what its purpose was supposed to be. Probably because I've asked him a million times before and then promptly forgot his response, other than "Just keep it in there, I'll get to it later. It's no big deal." My fingers are crossed, how 'bout yours? On top of that is a cute notebook that I just had to have to make notes in, despite having other notebooks floating around and hating the fact that cute notebook is wide-ruled instead of my preferred college-rule. I always feel like I'm in kindergarten again when using wide-ruled paper. That poor, bare notebook.

The astonishing thing, though, is the amount of crap I left in the car. I didn't even touch the glove box and center console. My car is still sporting two different ice scrapers, an obnoxiously large umbrella, a tiny air compressor in case of low tires, a collection of pennies that I never, and I mean never think to use, and that goddamn plate is still in the trunk.