Friday, December 30, 2011

New Years Resolutions

Ah, a new year is upon us. I have never really understood peoples obsession with resolutions. Most likely they are setting up highly unattainable goals in the hopes that they can absolve themselves of some guilt. I don't like to make promises against myself. And I don't really enjoy feeling that heady mixture of guilt and shame that comes with mostly inevitable failure.     

However, there were some things that happened this year that I feel I could I could have done better on. So I decided that in the end I would make some resolutions for myself.

1. Eat more cookies. I haven't done nearly enough of this. And they have to be good cookies too. None of that cheap store bought crap.

2. Read more books. I love to read books. The only problem is I don't have a lot of time with which to obtain books. So my resolution is to read more of them. Somehow.

3. Play more video games.

4. Find more gatherings where it is acceptable to drink expensive mixed drinks for free. Preferably the ones that contain chocolate.

I think that covers it pretty well. Here's hoping I can keep to all of them.

Monday, December 26, 2011

Chirstmas And Other Assorted Fun Things.

So, I managed to get sick the week before Christmas. The sort of terrible energy draining sickness that left me laying on the bed face down for awhile. I should also point out that if Scott hadn't been wonderful and wrapped the presents that my family would have gotten their gifts wrapped in festive plastic bags.

Since I'm on antibiotics, I also have the nausea and loss of appetite that goes with that. I might be going out on a limb here, but I'm going to say it's probably the worst Christmas ever. Here's why.

1. BOTH of Scott's laptops were attacked by viruses. Both times all his programs were wiped clean off. Every. Single. One.  

2. Two days before Christmas my outdoor cat emoticon shows up with her face covered in blood and hole in her check that she got somehow. I have no idea how these things keep happening. No vets are open Christmas weekend.*

3. I have never had a migraine, until Friday, when I've had one everyday since then.

4. This is the first Christmas without my father.

5. Scott's medication is once again giving him problems.

 So all in all not one of my better Christmases. I like seeing my family and all, but I could really take or leave Christmas. I don't even have a tree. I'm not sure I even want a tree. Maybe I can just put Christmas lights on the upright base next year and call it even.

* Okay I know there is an emergency clinic in town but I'll be damned if I am paying emergency Christmas time money for a cat that can't go a whole week without injuring herself somehow.


Tuesday, December 20, 2011

The Door Mystery

So, apparently, Scott forgot to shut the door last night. He had been outside petting our out door kitty, Emoticon, and must not have shut the door all the way when he came back in. So some point around 3am, I wake up to a horrible crashing sound, followed by the sound of two cats screaming at each other. Now this is not an unusual sound, as my outdoor cats tend to get if fights with each other over the food dish or the best sleeping spots. It's just that this time, the sound seemed to be coming from inside the house.

I jumped up, and headed into he living room, where I saw that every rug had been over turned. The next thing I noticed was that my indoor cats food dish had been chipped along one side, and was laying off the place mat on the floor. I immediately heading out onto the porch, not knowing what to expect.

There in front of me, was my indoor cat, Dianna. Her tail was extremely bushy and she looked absolutely startled to see me, and there by the door, glaring back at me, was Emoticon. It was then that I noticed the door was ajar, not enough for Emoticon to get back out, but enough to have let her in.

Now the thing you have to understand about Emoticon is she can only see out of one eye. Somehow she sustained a puncture wound to her right eye, and it is now mostly scar tissue. The vet had given us eye drops, but it had been very hard to give them to her on any sort of constant basis. It still makes me sad that this had to happen to her, but she stills seems to hunt just fine, and is otherwise a healthy happy cat.

However, only being able to see out of one eye means, that when she is persevered to be under attack, she starts yowling and flailing and clawing wildly. It's kinda funny to see, unless your seeing it happening at 3 am in on your porch. She stopped when she saw me, and turned. I moved towards her, intent upon opening the door, when she must have decided she had had enough of this, and manged to open it herself and flee into the night.

Dianna and I looked at each other for a long minute before she carefully sat down and started grooming the fuzziness back out of her tail. After making sure the door the fully shut this time, I picked up pieces and moved the dish up to the counter. I went back to bed, where neither my husband, or the dog had moved.

Thank god it wasn't murderers,or something. I could have died.

Way to back me up there guys.


Saturday, December 17, 2011

Chicken Coup 3: Fighting the Good Fight.

It snowed on our chicken coup a few days ago. Luckily, the weather warmed back up to a balmy 45 degrees, allowing us to resume work.

So despite the fact that my period is here and it feels like my uterus is trying to punch its way out, we did a lot today.

First off we placed the last of the panels on inside and out, and then I used great stuff to seal up all the cracks in the walls. Then we grabbed the windows and wrestled them into place. I have this theory that windows are like the goats of the building world, in the they are high spirited, rather heavy, have some moving parts, and also want to stir up as much trouble as possible. The window fought bravely against going into the wall, knowing in their smug ass way that they cannot be pounded into place for fear of breaking the glass.

More Great Stuff was applied around the windows, and then I had just enough time to get one exterior wall painted. I can also safely say that I much prefer setting a ladder on frozen snow covered ground then on mud.

The mud has been the bane of this project since we started, sucking at our boots, and throwing us down inclines. Not to mention all the times it tried to throw us off the ladders.

So hopefully in the next three days I can get the damn thing painted, both inside and out. It's a pretty big building though, with a lot of ladder work, so the going is slow. And of course there is rain forecast because there is always rain forecast when I have to paint something.

Anywho, I am going to give it my best, god damn it. Wish me luck.

Want More Chicken Coup Adventure? Here's Part Four. 

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Chicken Coup 2: The Revenge

Okay so we got the roof plywood up, and the tar/roofing paper/whatever the fuck you call it up and on, so the roof should be able to withstand the rain. We also put up the most of the OSB on the inside, and cut it out for the windows and managed to install one.

Long story short, my whole body hurts. Let me tell you something about using a Sawzall while on a ladder that is sitting in about 5 inches of mud. It sucks ass. I don't seem to have whatever amount of upper body strength that is required to hold the thing and saw with it at the same time. Also, when you least suspect it, it will catch on something and push back at you violently. It is like the Sawzall is waiting for you to let your guard down so it can throw you backwards off the ladder. Kinda like that scene in the lion king where Scar throw Mufasa off the cliff face but instead of having a herd of wildebeest below me I have a bunch of rocks and old boards with nails sticking out of them.

I hate the Sawzall deeply is what I'm saying. With the passion of a thousand fiery suns.

It hurts to type. Also, I have a bunch of other projects I'm neglecting. Like you know, digging that Internet trench and getting some Mobile Home Insurance. Yay. Hope this place doesn't burn to the ground anytime soon.

I just hope that we can finish this thing before Friday, because I have a job I have to go to and it's an overnight thing meaning Holly won't be sleeping very much. After this week I think I'm going to laze around and play video games until my brains come out of my ears. And get fat.

I am going to lay around and look at he Internet now.

Want More Chicken Coup Adventure? Here's Part Three.  

Thursday, December 8, 2011

The Chicken Coup: A Saga In The Making

I am not winning. After missing a golden chance to build the new chicken coup, when the weather guys swore up and god damned down that it was going to rain and then it totally didn't, we realized that there was another string of nice days coming up.

All of my pent up frustration over the sunshine and warmth when there was supposed to rain and cold led us to decide to rebuild the coup during this supposed stretch of nice weather.* This, in retrospect, was a bad idea.

We have been working on this god damned thing for 4 fucking days and we haven't even got the plywood on the roof yet, let alone the metal roofing. It might rain tomorrow and that would be bad, also Scott has a doctors appointment at 2:30, meaning we are going to be stopping working at about 1pm. Meaning that I think we are fucked. Can you put metal roofing on in the rain? You know it's going to rain for two freaking days and then be balls fucking cold? Here is a breakdown of how our days went so far.

Day 1. Lots of optimism. Went to Lowes and got shafted on on a bunch of lumber for the framing. Got back and assembled the front wall (the hardest wall) before it got too cold. The sun sets at 4pm, so that is when we stop working. And by set we mean goes behind the god damned ridge and the temperature immediately drops by about 5 degrees like someone flipped a god damned switch.

Day 2. Wait for frost to kinda melt off before we start. Finish framing. Slightly less optimism, a lot of 'wait did I measure that right?' Decide we should pick up the OSB and sheathing for the walls. Off to Lowes again for some more price raping. Come back and it's dark.

Day 3. Decided lack of optimism. Realize we need an 8ft A frame ladder to reach the highest point on the roof. We no not have a 8ft A frame ladder. All we have are 2 sketchy as hell hand me down ladders that my father had. We put OSB on. Got the back wall completely sheathed inside and out, as well as most of the outside done. Congratulations are in order. Drive to town to buy food and ladder. Can't find a an 8ft ladder. Eat cheese cake.

Day 4. Everything goes to hell and optimism is buried at the crossroads in a shallow grave. Framed all the windows and the door. I can tell you right now, strait up, that cutting windows out of the motherfucking sonofabitch sheathing is harder than fuck all. There are not enough curse words in the whole of the English language to convey how much this sucked. Got all of the windows cut out, and one of the two vents done, but now we get to do it all over again with the OSB, which was not been fully done on the inside of the walls yet. Got the roof rafters up.

So tomorrow we have to:

Install plywood on roof, add roofing paper/tar paper/whatever the fuck it's called.

Place on the metal roofing.

Place and cut the OSB.

Sand down the areas around the doors and windows because our cuts are not perfect.

Install windows.

Paint Structure inside and out.

I think were fucked. Straight up fucked and we will be lucky to finish the roof plywood before he has to leave for the doctors. I don't think we are getting all that done in 4 hours. I think we are going to be putting the metal roofing on in 36 degree weather.


* Nice weather meaning above 50 Degrees.

Looking for more Chicken Coup Adventures? Here's Part Two.

Sunday, December 4, 2011

Mold Is Trying To Murder Me.

I found in mold in both my closets. Leading me to a massive throwing out of stuff.

I have no idea what to do about that. Hardest hit were all the things I can't just throw in the washer, like my wedding dress, and Halloween costumes, and my art portfolio.

I don't really know how to fix this problem. I'm going to move some stuff over to the other mobile home, but I know that has had mold problems in the past too. The only thing I can think to do is put everything into plastic bins in the new trailer make sure that there is a good gap between the bins and the walls in order to maintain air flow. Air out the clothes in the cold winter air, and then use a good home dry cleaning kit.

This winter has been unusually warm and wet, and I think that was the problem. We would normally be running the wood stove by now, and the hot dry air would kill off the mold, but this year, it's been so warm we have hardly even needed the oil furnace.

So here we are.

I want to start taking stuff over and organizing it, but the problem is that in order to put things into the new closet, I have to take a whole bunch of crap out of the new closet. You know, the crap I was planning on storing in this mobile home. That I can't move over here until I've removed things like, you know, my desk. It's a closed loop system here people.

Also, I'm not sure how crazy I should be getting with this? Should I bleach every container before taking it over? As far as I know these mold spores are everywhere anyways, that's why shit in the fridge will mold when it goes bad. Should I bleach everything? The Internet makes it sound like this is some sort of mold apocalypse where I have to put up plastic sheeting and wear a respirator and drown things in a mountain of bleach and sprinkle baking soda everywhere and then vacuum like there is no god damned tomorrow and possibly burn the vacuum afterwards.

Scott's solution was to make me fudge, possibly to make up for he fact that he had no idea what to do, and also that none of his things got destroyed. Mmmm fudge. Fudge makes everything better.

I guess my day is going to be comprised of washing things and eating fudge and bleaching stuff.

Fun. Fuck. Fudge?

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

The Barn Is Now My Enemy.

So today we attempted to demolish the barn. After of course fixing the brakes on our other car so we don't go careening off the side of a mountain because WV doesn't believe in guardrails.

First off we emptied out the barn, which was a god damned adventure. First off, my Dad believed that if it was free it was the right price. Even if he didn't need the object in question. Like his compulsive need to collect broken shelving. Not that he put anything on the shelves, mind you. They were laying on their backs and sides, presumably waiting for the slow release of death. There was also a large pile of doors, some of which were great, and others that were so flimsy I could move them by myself. Also there was piles of chains, horse tack, farm implements, roofing materials, trailer skirting, and enough rotting lumber to make a good sized pile of sadness.

However what you have to understand is that the barn was not really together anymore when we went to empty it. It was leaning at a very odd angle, and the only thing keeping it upright was a bunch of boards propped up on the outside and inside. Some of them were sitting on cinder blocks, others were just sunk into the earth. Tarps were strung up inside, which were the only things keeping the stuff inside dry.

Also, there is no floor.

When I say that I mean it literally. There was a sort of shelf on each side formed by the rotting remains of the floor, with boards slung over the chasm to create a place to walk. None of the boards were the same size, or evenly spaced, or secured to anything. Also, when I said there was no floor, I mean it. There was a good three feet or more between the boards and the dirt.

I boldly went in, passing things out to Scott. I waved him away many times when I was struggling with something, as he was the only one who could drive me to the hospital if I fell.

Then there were the rats. Plural.

The whole placed reeked of rat urine. Rat poo encrusted EVERYTHING. I moved a random cardboard box out of the barn, passed it Scott, only for him to look in it and say “there's something alive in here.” Right before a rat leaped out of the box, dodged my boots, and ran under the floor. So that was exciting.

We got it done, however, despite the many setbacks. We put things in trash bags, stored away the good lumber, tarped things, and made trash piles.

This was the moment we had been waiting for: taking it down.

We cut and removed the electrical lines running to the barn, and very carefully removed the outer supports. We then used a heavy rope to pull out the interior supports, holding our breaths the whole time hoping for the satisfying crash.

Nothing happened. We got impatient and smashed out the cinder blocks holding the back up. Nada. So it still stands. It's probably going to fall down while we are sleeping, or during the middle of a blizzard, or when we least suspect it.

If you don't here back from me, it means the barn got me.

Avenge me.

Saturday, November 26, 2011

My PS3, 250 Feet Of Ethernet Cable and Waiting

So I just told Scott that I was going to grab a shower. And then strangle the shower. And then I shouted IN YOUR FACE SHOWER!

This is pretty much what life is like with me around.

I could be playing portal 2 RIGHT NOW, if it wasn't for the fact that my PS3, games, and TV are all over at the newer mobile home. I love video games, but I am not willing to walk through 20 degree temps just so I can spend an hour or so playing Portal 2. Which leads me to my next point.

I just bought 250 feet of ethernet cable today. The only thing separating me from living in the newer mobile home, you know the one with a working sink, and a washer and dryer, is that it does not have Internet. It says a lot about me that I am willing to hand dig a trench in November just so I can have video games and Internet.

Also, in order to build the house we are going to have to move out of this shitty older mobile home, because we are going to be tearing the fuck out of it's septic and water lines for the new foundation. In the meantime, I would like to live somewhere where water does not leak out of the light fixtures when there is snow on the roof, and that does not have a hole in the floor that is only covered by carpet.

It's the little things in life.

So I am waiting for the day when my ethernet cable arrives, so I can move into the newer mobile home on my property and play video games again.

Godspeed ethernet cable. Godspeed.

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Painting Part 2

Surprisingly the living room wall painting went well. The stripes don't look hideous and I feel comfortable painting the other wall with stripes. I love the look, even though it kinda makes my living room look like a hotel. I get a little surge of pleasure every time I look at that wall.

Which means that I am winning, in your face shitty mobile home walls. WHOO! YEAH!

Ahem. It looks nice, is what I'm saying.

Unfortunately, they worked so well I decided to paint horizontal stripes in my office. This was in retrospect, a bad decision. It wasn't that the stripes look bad, or even that they are crooked or uneven, but that trying to fix the original color with white stripes was never going to work. I had painted the room a really unfortunate bright greenish blue. It matches nothing in that room. I really do not like the color, but it was the only light color I felt I had enough of. So I used it.

Don't get me wrong, I like the stripes, I just wish I could have had a better color scheme.

Also, while vertical stripes are easy to do, horizontal stripes became a nightmare of taping and cursing. Since I was measuring my stripes off the ceiling, I came to the conclusion that the ceiling is not level. Plus, the walls were bowed and warped in odd ways, making the tape look off, even when it was not. I had another nasty surprise, in that when I peeled the painters tape off, some of the original paint would peel off as well. I attributed this to the smooth, almost too smooth walls, since I had damn well sanded the walls before painting. This was easy to fix though, I just used a small paintbrush to repaint the damaged bits, but it was still sort of defeating.

Technically the stripes are great, they are level, even around the room, and the lines are clean. I am really good at painting stripes, and not so good at being rich enough to afford real colors.*

Someday, we will build that goddamn house and I will pay someone to mix paint for me and it will be beautiful.

Now, I just have to paint the other wall in the living room, and Scott doesn't know this yet, but I am going to repaint that god damned kitchen. Possibly while he is on a business trip.

Love you honey.

*Real colors: colors I actually picked out and had mixed. Or alternatively, colors I actually like.

Saturday, November 19, 2011

PaintingThe Walls

In preparation for moving into the newer mobile home, and in addition to adding the wood stove, I have also been painting the interior. It sort of occurred to me a few days ago that the half ripped up wallpaper that had been left by the previous tenants was not what I wanted to look at for the five or so years until the house is done.

Now, what I did not realize was that the previous owners had done a lot of remodeling, but had not really fixed up the holes in the walls very well, unless you count covering said hole with wallpaper a fix.

Mostly I just painted around the goofs, and when it was dry, hung up some of my dad's crocheted blankets on the wall stepped back and said “perfect!”

Unfortunately I discovered another surprise in the living room, which was that they had removed the original door. They had filled the space with something resembling cheap drywall, but there was still huge gap all around the repair. It took me three days of slapping joint compound on the wall, to even began to hide it. The wall is still kinda hideous, it's definitely not that super smooth look that I'm beginning to suspect has something to do with not having your walls made out of particle board and shattered aspirations.

My plan is to paint vertical stripes the wall. Hopefully that will hide all of the horrible mutant deformities. I'm going to be using an antique white, and a color I call -the-color-my-dad-had-bought-at-Lowes-in-their-oops-paint-section. I am not willing to buy new paint to paint a crappy mobile home so I just have to hope that weird ass colors I'm painting this thing won't drive me insane before we can build that house.

I enjoy painting, I really do, but I have a sinking feeling that none of the colors I have access to are going to work with the preexisting colors that are already in this place. Most of this paint I'm using was stuff that my dad had bought before he died, and from his selection I can tell three things:

1. He never paid full price for paint in his life.

2. If it was an exterior paint he had to buy it because you never know when you will need to paint something outside. (How else do you explain the gallon of dark, dark purple I found?)

3. Blue was the best color in the whole god damned universe. Hell, blue was almost the only color in his universe.

I wish I could say something witty here, but I am really hoping that when I paint the stripes on it makes the room work, instead of looking like a wall sized printer error.


Monday, November 14, 2011

The Walking Dead TV Show: A Review.

I know what you're thinking. In answer, no I still don't have TV, Scott purchased the the first season.

Now, I have a friend who talked very highly of the comic so when I saw Scott pop the DVD into the computer I sat down to watch it with him, because zombies. Eating people. What's not to love?

In a nutshell: It sucked.

Really. Read on to learn how badly.


Okay, I didn't bother to learn any of the characters names, so I will call the main character, Bad Decision Bob.

Bad Decision Bob, is a cop, who gets shot while responding to a your typical criminal shenanigans. He ends up in the hospital, where his partner, who I shall be referring to as Sensible Steve, comes to visit him.

Bad Decision Bob wakes up in the hospital, disoriented. He quickly realizes something is wrong, since there were more mangled corpses in the hallways then is normal for a hospital. Also, subtly, there is a massive double metal door that is chained closed with the words 'DO NOT EVEN THINK ABOUT OPENING THIS DOOR' written on it in what looks like blood. Also zombies are on the other side moaning, and reaching their hands though the crack.

What does Bad Decision Bob do?

If you answered 'he staggers out of the hospital in his underwear with out even so much as a god damned jacket' you'd be right.

Fast forward a bit and we learn that Sensible Steve has already organized a camp of survivors, saved Bad Decision Bob's wife (and by saved, I meant with his penis), and son, and is already making elaborate raids into the city for supplies.

At this point in the story Bad Decision Bob has obtained a horse, proceeded to ride it smack into the middle of Atlanta, and get it devoured by zombies. He flees the hoard and has to crawl under a tank for safety. Before blowing his own head off so as not to become undead, he has an epiphany and crawls up though the bottom hatch of the tank. Loosing all his guns, food, ammo, and clothing in the process.

If you had just escaped zombies, and had crawled into a tank, what would you do?

If you answered: 'try to start the tank” congratulations you are smarter then Bad Decision Bob.

At no point in this series did I want Bad Decision Bob to survive. His escapes became so improbable that I began to feel like the producers were just fucking with me. If you could have a training manual for how to survive the zombie apocalypse in the walking dead universe, it would just feature a picture of Bad Decision Bob with a red line though it and the words 'avoid at all costs.'

Bad Decision Bob makes decisions like acting sensibly murdered his parents.

I didn't not watch anymore beyond that episode, based on the fact the precious moments of my life were slipping away, and I was never going to get them back. Had I watched more, there is doubt in my mind that Sensible Steve was quietly rebuilding society, possibly using solar panels and lots of chain link fencing, while Bad Decision Bob was probably trying to figure out which way his pants went on.

Here's a hint buddy, the zipper goes in the front.

Thursday, November 10, 2011

The Duct Work Was Trying To Murder Me.

So yesterday I had valiant battle against some duct work.

Owing to Scott having to work yesterday, I had put in all the duct work under the trailer by myself. There was a lot of cursing, and unnecessary anger. I manged to stab myself in every finger in my right hand at at least once.

My day started off at 7am, and at exactly 7:45 I realized that Scott had purchased round duct work yesterday, but somehow it never occurred to me that he didn't assemble any of it. Now round duct comes loose, in that you have to snap it together into a tube. This is ridiculously hard to do. Fortunately luck was kinda in my corner. Most of the ducts went together nicely. However every fourth or fifth duct, the sides would slip out of the groove and a tear a lovely gouge out of my finger. If you are wondering why I was not wearing gloves, the answer is I was wearing gloves. Duct work is like a circular razor blade, in that it thirsts at all times for human blood.

I congratulated myself on the assembly, had a cup of tea, and prepared for round two, actually installing the damn stuff. Now what you have to understand here is that mobile* homes are not made to have an wood stove sitting in a shed out back. Meaning that none of the vents are anywhere near conveniently located.

It pretty much took me all day. The space under the trailer was enough that I could crouch over and kneel, but that was about it. Also, I had to install the ducts in a very specific order, because when the last duct went in I would not longer be able to get in there any longer.

I'm not sure if you have ever used self tapping metal screws before, but let me put it this way, it takes for ever for one to sink and then most likely it has only gone though the outer layer meaning you have to do the whole thing all over again. At one point I was sitting on my ass, holding a section on ductwork up with my foot, one arm around it, trying to screw on a piece of pipe, and thought that I might end up punching the next person in the face who talks about being able to sit around in their underwear on their days off.

I have cold air returns crossing over hot pipes, and three elbow joints hooked together like the tin man had just broken his leg and it was terrible compound fracture, but it got installed god damn it. I had to custom cut some pieces, but it all worked out and I had enough parts, and for that I am very thankful.

I choose to celebrate my badassery (and also the pain in my hands) by getting drunk. This seemed like a great idea until I realized that I hadn't really eaten anything since breakfast. Also I came to the conclusion that, if you are already a crappy cook, getting drunk will not help with that.

Which is how I ended up stabbing myself with a fork.

* If you are from West Virgina you are legally obligated to pronounce it mo-bile.

Sunday, November 6, 2011

A Mousetrap, My Dog and Why TV sucks.

Sooo, my dog got her tongue caught in a mousetrap today.

It was not her proudest moment. 

We were visiting Scott's parents, who I might add are wonderful friendly people who don't mind watching our dog when the need arises. Somehow, my clueless doggy found a mousetrap they didn't even know they had out in the basement, and wham! 

Now she's not eating. 

Yeah, I don't really know what to say now. I'm tired, as I spent, oh let me think, 6 hours in the car today. I sort of drifted from activity to activity this evening, unsure what to do with myself. 

I kinda wanted to put in a movie, but I suck at watching movies. I can never decide on one, so I just end up watching the first ten minutes of a few films before giving up entirely and just mindlessly surfing the Internet. This is where TV would come in handy, except, I don't have TV, and I'm developing the same problem with the TV, in that all the shows suck and can't hold my attention.  

Let me explain it this way, every time I get put in a hotel for work on a business trip I flip on the 'ol TV and am confronted by, basically the same 7 shows: 

Daniel Tosh- where he talks about the internet on TV which I think is creating some sort of wormhole of stupidity. 

A stand up comic special I remember from 4 years ago when I had cable. 

The same 15 stations that do nothing but show either news or sports. 

A reality show. (These are like getting a root canal if your tooth was somehow located in your eyeball) 

Ice road truckers: or as I know it, Watching people drive: the anthology. This is gripping entertainment here people. 

Animal Cops: This show makes me both sad and bored. 

Modern Marvels: you will never eat or use any of these products again if you knew how they were made. 

That's it. Now obviously I'm not watching the tube in the middle of day, but that's my point. I am watching cable during the hours that most people in this time zone are watching cable and there is nothing new on. Isn't this bad? 

I swear to god, every time I get back to my room late at night and want to watch something funny the only thing on is Daniel Tosh's show. Why? Why does this show even exist? I can watch funny internet videos, on- oh I don't know - the internet. Anytime I want. I can even- get this- go to sites where I can have the videos mocked and made fun of for free, whenever. Amazing. 

I think I hate him now.

Friday, November 4, 2011

I Fixed The Furnace.

You read that right. Uh huh. I fixed the fuel oil furnace. 

Only after Scott spent 164 Motherfucking dollars on a new magic gray box. It turns out that the upper limit switch had been tripped and all I had to do was push it back down. However since neither one of us knew how to operate this god damned furnace, we had no idea upper limit switches even existed

The upper limit switch, as I learned though frantic googling of the problem, is a temperature gage that prevents the furnace from overheating and burning down your house mobile home

I also learned that the type of furnace I have is a piece of crap that is very likely to over heat and burn down my mobile home. Oh joy. Yet another thing to keep me up at night. 

So anyway I fixed it. 

I think I'm going to have to stop this entry here, though, because I can't think of anything to write that isn't a bitter diatribe against the universe for the seemingly endless amount of bad luck I have been having this year. 

I'm going to go eat cookies until the situation improves itself. 

Monday, October 31, 2011

Power Outage Fun Time.

So the power went out for two days. This event, while not unusual for this time of year, served to highlight that fact that we were totally unprepared for winter to a ridicules level. The power went out at about 5am Saturday morning, meaning that it got every very cold inside, rather quickly. Upon waking up I also realized that there was 7 inches of snow outside, and it was still snowing. 

Now the day before, we had just learned that the storm was due to show up on Saturday night, instead of Monday like they had been thinking. So we basically constructed an entire furnace shed in one afternoon, having spent all morning feverishly buying materials at the Lowes. It was very cold outside, as the temp was dropping during the day, and once we got the framing up, it started to snow. Picture the two of us, outside, frantically cutting sheathing in the pouring snow, cursing at each other and dropping screws on the ground because ours hands were too cold to hold them anymore. We hadn't eaten anything since early morning, and it was 5pm. 

We quickly realized that we were not going to get the roof on with out help, and had to make an emergency call to my Uncle Dale, who is the go to person now, since my dad is dead. He told us he could come out, but that it would be after dark, since he had a few things to do himself before the snow got too bad. Long story short, he showed up, and I told him we had made some bad decisions, but that it was okay because he was here now. He laughed. I also told him that just like every other kid in his life, I only called him when I needed something. Well in the dark and the cold and the snow the three of us (did I mention my husband still has a broken rib?) Wrestled the roof in place and tacked it down. We covered the roof in plastic sheeting as a temp cover* A congratulatory home brewed beer was had, and my uncle departed, and we ate crappy oven baked pizza and went to bed, tired but happy. That shed was up god damned it. 

At around five am, I woke up to a pitch black mobile home, and the sound of my battery back up for my PC beeping incessantly. Usually when this happens the power will kick back on in a few minutes. I lay there listening to the beeping, waiting, and waiting. Nothing happened. 

We got up sometime the next morning, brewed some tea, and began to talk about ways to heat the trailer. I soon discovered that my Dad's back up generator was a 300 pound behemoth that neither of us could move out of shed or, indeed anywhere near the trailer and also hadn't been serviced in about two years. That's okay, we said, We'll just go over to the newer trailer (my Dad's trailer when he was alive, where the newly built furnace shed is residing) and use the back up propane heater. We came to conclusion, after about a good twenty minutes of fighting the controls, that A: we had no idea how this thing worked, and that B: it was out of fuel. Two Propane tanks sit out back and feed it, and they were both empty. 

Okay then. Our only option now, was to buy a generator to run the blowers on the wood stove.** This involved going to town, which meant that we first needed to shovel the driveway. Which we did. The snow was heavy and wet and my back and arm still hurt from heaving shovel full after shovel full over the bank. Finally we make it to town, and purchased a 200$ motherfucking generator. We bring it back, only to discover that we don't have any gas for it. Scott goes into town AGAIN while I built a platform for said generator from an old pallet and a few boards. He gets back, and we fire it up. 

We manage to fight the temperature inside back up to a balmy 60 degrees. However this involves getting up in the middle of the night at 3am to refill the wood stove and the generator. This meant that I spent the better part of an hour laying awake in bed, listing to the generator, terrified that it would die prematurely and the heat from the stove would melt the extension cord, which could totally really happen. I'm not kidding. 

Needless to say I didn't get a whole lot of sleep that night. 

The next day was grim repetition of the first, keeping the generator going, and trying to get whatever chores we could get done accomplished. Finally the power came back on at exactly 4pm. YES! I could take a SHOWER. I had Internet! I could microwave shit! I could wash my clothes! 

Except now the fuel oil furnace isn't working, and we have to go to town AGAIN to blow money on a new magic gray box that will hopefully make it work. 

This, right here people, is life in country. This negates any idea I had every had about going out this Halloween either. Then my friend sent me a text Saturday night, unaware of my struggles to survive, about how she didn't feel like going to any parties that night, and I wanted to strangle her. I guess it was just cosmic payback for the time I called her because my pet rat was dead and she told me her sister had just died. 

I'm still sorry about that one, Heather. 

* Note: if you think you would like to live in the country and buy a place to build a house on and homestead, the second thing you should do is go out and buy a roll of thick plastic from the store. It is not a tarp, it will not last all winter, but by god when you need temporary cover for something RIGHT NOW this stuff in in-fucking-valuable.

** Now to explain, our furnace shed is located behind our mobile home, contains our wood stove and is fully functional. My Dad's trailer needed a furnace shed to house his wood stove, as the original shed he had built needed to be torn down. That is what we were building on Friday so we can move into his place, since his is the newer mobile home.

Monday, October 24, 2011

Why are we terrible at going to the store?

I am a firm believer in combining trips. However I am also terrible at anticipating what we are going to need. I can easily put on the list the things we are out of completely, but I can never realize that if have half a brick of cheese that we are going to need more before next week. Or we do fine on food, but don't check anything but the fridge and end up using paper towels instead of toilet paper for two days. 

And it's not just me. Scott does this too. I can't figure out why two intelligent people have such a problem with this concept. 

Now I would like to keep a well stocked pantry so that we have extra of everything, but I can't do that in a mobile home because I live in a shoe box. I like to buy when it's on sale, and then live off my stash of pasta and canned tomatoes for all time. Unfortunately when you travel a lot you tend not to buy perishable things. This leads to getting home and opening the fridge to revel that you only own moldy cheese and condiments. And frozen peas. And sadness.

We also got a magnetic white board for the fridge so we could make a list of foods that we needed as we went though them. This, in retrospect, was a terrible idea. The problem develops because that system eliminates actually looking around the kitchen to see what were out of. In addition to the above organizational issues, I firmly believe I enter some sort of weird trance when I enter the grocery store. This trance makes me unable to remember any item that is not on my list. I call this problem 'store amnesia.' It's like I get terribly distracted by my desire to get the foods as fast as possible. 

I dislike shopping for foodstuffs, unless the store is really empty. It's like a circus where I have to dodge screaming children, fat isle blockers, the elderly, and the group of like five women that have to take up the whole alley and have to stop every three feet because those cake toppers are just to goddamn darling. I hate all of you. I also tend not to buy a lot without the husband there because I never want to get a cart. They slow me down and I get stuck in shitty cart traffic jams. Plus I have to take them out to the car and hunt down the cart return area while people barrel past me while looking for the best parking spot ever. I just want to get my fucking noodles and get the hell out. 

I think what we need is an app where if I mount a web cam with a flash in the fridge, It will take pictures of what I have and then send them to my phone while I'm in the store trying to decide if I need more soy sauce. Or maybe leave one spouse at home so that the shopping half can call home and start rattling off items. “Do we need more mayo? What about butter? Do you still eat this brand?”

I really don't have a good idea of how to fix the problem, which is why none of my sandwiches had mayo on them for the past week and haven't had any tissues in my office now for about three months. 

But it's okay, because not buying enough food is one hell of a weight loss plan, because hunger is the breakfast of champions. 

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

I Hate Strange Showers

I feel the need to write this post because when I was trying to explain this to my coworker he was giving me this look like I was crazy. I hate using a strange shower, because I never know how the goddamn thing is supposed to work. Okay, okay I know that standard set up, two knobs, pull tab, and you’re in business. Except where the hell did all these weird ass shower designs come from? Like those handles that you have to turn sideways. The more you turn them, the more water pressure you get, but it’s actually a cruel trap, because the more you turn them the colder the water gets. So in effect you have two choices, you can have nice warm/hot water, or you can have water pressure, but you can’t have both because life is unfair and painful cold. 
The worst is what I call the mystery shower, or at least that’s what I call it in my own mind where no one can judge me for it. Shut up. Anyway the mystery show is as follows: any shower with an unfamiliar set up of knobs and levers.

I swear to Buddha, I am not making this up, although in my defense I was very sleep deprived. I was just happy to have reached the point in the day where I could take a goddamn shower. I get naked, obtain a hotel towel that smells like bleach and go switch on the shower. This diabolical fiend was a single knob with no instructions what so ever. Well I had a shower like this when I was a kid, I got this no problem. I pull the knob out and water comes pouring out into the tub. It takes me awhile to get the water hot, because this hotel’s water heaters seem to be taking fucking forever to make any progress and when you’re not entirely sure which is hot and which is cold, well it’s an adventure. I have also noticed a lot of showers at hotels are actually plumbed in backward for reasons I don’t understand but probably have to do with the fact they hired the plumber off craigslist.

Finally! Hot fucking water! Holy crap! I go to turn the shower on and realize there is no other lever. No button. Nothing. How in the fuck do you turn the shower on? 
I spend a few moments watching my hard won hot water pouring down the drain, and then another few wishing Scott would get in so I could ask him. I should also point out that having to ask him how the shower works is not abnormal in our marriage and I think he’s used to it by now. Any who, here I am starting at something that shouldn’t be happening if there was a fair and righteous god, and I get pissed. God damn I went to motherfucking college and got good grades and by god no cheap ass motel shower is going to stop me from being clean. I seize the knob and give it great yank to the left and to my surprise it pulls out even more and the shower comes on. VICTORY! 
I just realized that I probably should not be telling the whole Internet that I have trouble with unfamiliar shower designs, but I’m rather curious. Does anyone else have this problem? I am just crazy. Crazier than normal, I mean. I dunno. God damned showers are stealing my god damn dignity. Fuckers.

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

The Driveway Is A Venus Fly Trap

I got back from work at 5:35 am this morning. I feel like I've been run over by a truck. A big truck. Speaking of trucks guess what happened when I ordered gravel? 

If you guessed the gravel truck got stuck in my driveway, you'd be right. Like really stuck. This was unexpected as it was like 4:30 in the afternoon. The driver got out, and we stood looking at his truck. It had slid off the road, and the right rear wheel was just chilling in the ditch. We tried shoveling gravel under the tires to give him some traction. 

It didn't work. 

 It was getting dark. I offered him some shots, he declined. I kept apologizing for my road that had just eaten one of his trucks. I really had no idea what to talk about in that situation. The weather? 

He called someone, who showed up with a skid steer and a flat bed truck. He made the mistake of pulling in behind the gravel truck, which you should never ever do. Ever. We almost didn't get the flat bed back out again. Then the skid steer got stuck. 

This is sadness, also expensive.
 At that point they told me that would have to come back in the morning with a bulldozer. They climbed into the only vehicle that was not stuck in the mud and drove off. I went inside, intending to have a god damned drink, only to discover that the dog had eaten a shit ton of fresh made-from-scratch- cookies off the table in my absence. 

It was not a good day. 

Of course Scott was in DC though all of this so he missed almost all of the fun, arriving home just in time to see them victoriously dump what was left of the gravel in the lawn. He wasn't here when the fuel oil tank started to go when they were filling it either. I'm beginning to get tired of apologizing to various delivery people for things. 

I had asked the man with a bulldozer what to do about the driveway and he told me that we had to scrape it back down to the clay, add shale, and then add gravel. In a way it's fortune that this happened, because we were both unsure as to how to really go about fixing the damn thing. I was working under the assumption that the previous owners had done that step, but he assured us that, no they hadn't. The road was a lie. 

So all in all, not one of the better days of my life.

Friday, October 7, 2011

I am not good at things.

Life keeps demanding I do things. Things I am terrible at.

I have to order gravel today. Actually I tried to order gravel yesterday, but the gravel guy wasn't in. So he is supposed to give me a call back. I hate that. Anyway, I don't know how to order gravel. The lady in the store at the to her end of the line was- god save her- trying to help me. This is pretty much how our conversation went. I am not good with these things.

NANCY: “How much do you need?”
ME: “Um, I dunno. Like, a big truck, a really big truck.”

NANCY: “Okay, well the truck holds six tons. Is that how much you need?”

ME: “ Um, sure. How much does six tons of gravel cost?”

NANCY: “That depends on the type, what type do you need?”

ME: “I need to pour a small cement slab, and then use the left overs on the driveway.”

NANCY: “I don't know what kind that is, you'll have to talk to our gravel guy.”

First of all, I didn't know that builder supply places had gravel guy. Second, I am utterly incompetent when it comes to measuring distance or quantity by eye. Quantity is the worst though. I have no idea how men, who could have never even seen six tons of gravel before in their lives, can tell exactly how much they need to do a driveway. How in the hell do they do that?

These are the questions that keep me up at night people.

I like to be thought of as competent, but I'm not sure how people go about doing that. The little things always seem to trip me up. Like the time the ATM ate my debit card because I put it in while the advertisements between customers were still up. You know, when the guy in front of you leaves and then you step forward but the ATM is thinking or some shit so it runs ads for the bank you are already banking with because that makes sense. So I ram my card into the machine and it eats it. Apparently, even though the ATM is sitting idle, looking innocent, you are not supposed to use it until the little welcome screen pops up. How the fuck was I supposed to know that? It's not like there are warning labels on those things.

Is there a class I missed at college for this shit?

I feel like there was a class, or a pamphlet I missed out on that explained all this, like how to order gravel, and how not to confuse a ATM, or how to make small talk with delivery people so you don't feel awkward about the transaction, or how to make out a check while you are standing in your yard with out looking like an idiot.

Friday, September 30, 2011

Well, we didn't die.

However the rear brake went out on the right side. It was all like “HHHRRRRRRGGGGGAAAARRRRRR” and we were all like, “What the? Is that us?” And the break was all like HHHRRRRRRRGGGGGGGRRRGGRRGGRRR.” And then we were all like “Fuck.” 

We made in home, but now we have to take the car apart again, bleed the breaks, and then put it all back together again. Also this is our busiest time of year for work, so there is some careful scheduling going on. 

Also, to throw another wench into the crappy engine that is my life, the dog has fleas. Which means that on my days off I have been thrown into a mess of vacuuming and poisoning. I swear to god that my washing machine is going to explode. It's not a bad infestation, by any means, but I still have to treat and treat and treat again. 

I also had a moment when I read something on the net that said, 'winter does not necessarily kill fleas' and after I picked myself up off the floor from laughing too hard I went to find my husband and tell him the Internet was being an idiot. It easily gets to be - 4 up here and I'll be damned if you can show me a flea egg that can take that. So outside should take care of itself. 

I don't have time to treat all the rooms at once, so I have to take each at a time and hope that works. I'm vacuuming like mad, and also using a spray poison, because I will live in toxic chemicals as long as it means I don't have fleas. 

Death to fleas, I will cut them down before me! I will let no flea live beyond this day! This day we fight, we fight to take back our carpet! We fight for our dogs and cats! We fight for our pillows! 





Monday, September 26, 2011

So we fixed the car.

There was cursing involved. We had to make two trips to the auto parts store before we finally had all the pieces to the puzzle. The first day we replaced the rotors, which was pretty easy, but then we realized that the rear calipers were shot. Both of them. 

That was fun. 

I realize that most of you have no idea how the brakes on your car work, so I'll give you a run down in case this happens to you in the future. The rotors attach to the wheel, and are what the brakes grip onto when the car stops. The brake pads sit inside the calipers which crush the pads against the rotors like they are giving them the biggest hug ever. 

Placing the brake pads into the calipers was like trying to solve one of those metal puzzles, like the kind you used to be able to order of catalogs. You know where all the pieces come apart, but you're damned if you can figure out how. Like that, but with a car. One side fit together nicely, but the other side was screwed up at the factory somehow, and neither pad wanted to go in. Or, worse we would get one side in, but then it would pop out as soon as we tried to fit in the other side.

The problem was that the piston inside the caliper was too far forward and was not allowing the pads to sit inside correctly. We adjusted it (by we I mean Scott.) Remember this point, because it will haunt us later.

Finally we got all the pieces back together, and bleed out the brakes. If you are wondering, bleeding out the brakes is not fun. It's actually pretty easy with two people, but it's most definitely not fun. Scott takes it for a test drive, reports the brakes are very soggy, and that the emergency bake doesn't work at all. We bleed the brakes again. Tighten the emergency brake cable. Curse. 

We discover, by taking off the wheels yet again that the right rear tire is not braking at all. Remember that adjustment we made. We had to now adjust it back. After pretty much spending a whole day and one evening trying to make unyielding metal bits into a brake system, we finally have a working car.  

We think. 


I really hope we don't die on the way to work today. 

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Life is kicking my ass.

So in addition my husband almost dying, and then him breaking a rib, our car decided to die on the way to work today. 

We were driving down a mountain behind the most redneck truck I had ever seen. It was a matte black ford ranger with these huge jacked up tires. It looked like they had painted it with spray paint and to add the icing on the hillbilly cake was the three guys crammed into the tiny cab. They slowed down to turn and about that point our car began to make a sound I like to call 'screaming in pain'. 

I don't speak car very well, but I'm pretty sure it was saying something along the lines of “OH MY FUCKING GOD THIS BURNS LIKE LIQIUD FIRE!” We pulled over immanently and got out of the car. The first thing we noticed (and by we I mean Scott) was that the brake rotors on the rear tires were incredibly hot. And by that I don't mean that they were terribly sexy. 

There is a certain sinking feeling one experiences when standing next to the highly advanced machine that you were relying on completely to take you places, that for whatever reason is not working. We looked at the car, and then we looked at the huge mountain we had driven down.* 

“Do you think we can make it home with no breaks?” I asked Scott, trying not to think about how much a tow would cost. 

“Sure,” He said simply. “It's all up hill from here.” 

Of course it wasn't but we ignored that fact. The sound had stopped because the broken thing was now broken and did not see a point in continuing to scream about it. On the way it dawned on us that we had to call the office. Having backed out of several jobs due to illness, I felt terrible about telling Boss Man that we weren't coming in today. 

Boss Man understood completely that this was in no way our fault, and told us just to worry about Scott's stress test tomorrow and to fix our car. He did reveal that the client had wanted to add an extra person, but that he couldn't find anybody, and now he had three slots to fill, which may or may not happen. I felt awful, but even though we still had my Dad's old car there was no way we could drive all the way home, switch cars and then get to work on time. Plus my Dad's car, which is now my car, well lets just say that I'm not sure that it will make the three hour drive to DC and back without dying. 

So now I'm at home. We have already made one trip to the Advance Auto Parts store, replaced some parts, and ordered more parts. Called relatives who know cars and gotten idea of the problem. 

It's gonna cost us.

If my blog was wildly popular I would offer to draw/paint you any goddamn thing you wanted if you gave me ten bucks, and email you the JPG. But nobody reads this blog yet. Yet. Someday. So I dunno. It's a catch 22. My husband is broken, my car is broken, and I can't go to work until both of those things unbroken themselves. 

Pity Party Tonight! BYOB! I'm going to start drinking now. 

* I know if you live near the Rocky's you will claim that our mountains are really glorified foot hills and that you don't know what we are complaining about, first of all fuck you, and second my state does not believe in guards rails or switch backs so why don't you try driving down a mountain with no rear brakes here and see what the fuck happens to you. 

Sunday, September 18, 2011

We must have hit the luck fairy with our car.

This past month has been murder. First my Super Best Friend came to visit, which was awesome. We got drunk, played the Wii, got caught up, walked our dogs around my super sweet land, and generally had fun. That was until we were playing the Wii and Scott looked behind him to see that my dog had eaten Super Best Friend's shoe. My dog had never shown much inclination to chew anything she isn't supposed to, but that day she just felt it was time for some shoe. Some Super Best Friend shoe. 

The month headed down hill from there. The day after my friend left, Scott drove off to work only to call me and tell me that he was taking himself to the hospital and that I should call our employer type person and let him know that he won't be in. I did the usual where I run around and panic for awhile, followed by acceptance. 

Apparently, he narrowly avoided having a heart attack. For some reason, his blood pressure shot through the god damn roof. However they gave him medication, and both his doctor and the ER doctor told him he could go back to work. 

Fine and dandy. Except for the fact that his second day back at work he hit himself in the side with something he was lifting and quite possibly broke his own rib. 


This pretty much eliminates working on the chicken coop. I just hope we can fix the things we need to fix before winter comes. I really need to get some more firewood, but I'm working so much I don't know when the hell I would order it. This month is trying to murder me. No, that's not right, it's trying to murder Scott. 

Wish me luck you guys, I'm gonna need it. 


Thursday, September 15, 2011

The underground cultist dream.

I just had this... dream.

It started out in this run down city. Where the grass grew up through the cracks in the sidewalk and all the buildings were leaning, leaky and old. Like Baltimore, only the buildings had better roots.

Our story starts when we go to a run down dilapidated building. Magnificent arches, big enough to drive a car through and tall enough to walk an elephant under, sat on each side of the place, complete with little arches on the sides. The ceiling was vaulted, like in the old cathedrals, with cracks and dust coating everything. The room was free of pillars, so all of the space in the large entry chamber was open. There was a sad feeling to this place, it was truly a tragedy that such a beautiful space had fallen into ruin and regret.

All life was not lost however, because as I watched twilight came over the city, smoothing out the edges, I saw a group of cloaked figures making there way into the building. They passed though the great room, and though a narrow arch down a series of winding corridors. Finally they reached an ugly circular door set into the stone work. Rust had taken over the door, and stained the white rock on each side of it, making it look like some sort of unsightly growth. An old man with crazy eyebrows was there, and he would open the door to admit people, sometimes whole families, into the narrow hallway beyond.

It turns out these people were part of a secret cult/religion and believed that their gods lived under the earth. So beneath this building they had dug a series of tunnels, so they could meet in secret and worship. The earth around them was warm, probably clay, and they had work lights strung up, giving the whole space a warm cheery feel. I distinctly remember the warm walls being bathed in the yellow light, the effect was beautiful. I could see why these folks would leave the concrete city of dust and decay and come down here.

Then the robots showed up.

It turns out there cult/religion/whatever the fuck was illegal and the city did not take kindly to them digging around under their shit. Unfortunately the local authorities felt the best way to deal with this was to take their robots and attempt to murder everyone. So as the people were coming out, unawares from their underground sanctuary the robots and the police/military/angry people made a ring around the building. If your thinking this doesn't go very well for the people inside, your right.

This bit wasn't too clear, but I remember the robots were black, with a big glowing red eye thing in the center of their heads. They were at least ten feet tall, with big arms, and I think smaller legs. Like maybe big robotic gorillas, but it wasn't very clear. They proceed to lay waste to this building, ripping it apart and crushing it. They did not appear to have guns, or at least I couldn't tell if they did, but you would think if you have the technology to make robots you sure as hell could make guns, but maybe they were forbidden or some shit. I dunno.

Anyway I was treated to a montage of the building falling in while people frantically ran though the dust, coughing and screaming while robots crushed everything around them. Their were families where the father was carrying his children out of the ashes. It was pretty fucking sad here people. I was treated to another view of outside where a smug looking commander was surveying the damage. At least he seemed happy about all this.

Afterward, when the robots had cleared off, we see the survivors meeting in a small room, lit by a single sputtering flame. They decide to leave the city, and move out to the country. Finding a good spot with a few houses on it, they decide to park it, and build a few more. Being busy as bees, they start a new life, carefully secretly, began to dig a new tunnel inside the corner of their town hall. Everything is right as rain.

I began to know some of the individual people, Crazy eyebrows is like there wizard/shaman guy who leads them, and there are a few individual families that are really the heart of the town. There is also a pretty young girl, with reddish blond hair that forms lovely ringlets all down her back. She is not yet old enough for marriage, but all the young boys have their eyes on her.

Well one day the king, yes they have a king, no he's not a robot, was riding though his Kingdom. When I say riding I think he was in a car, but I'm not sure, but he definitively had some robots with him. He sees the girl when she's out and about in her village and decides right there that he has to marry her. So he goes back to his giant well maintained palace and tells his magician/shaman that he wants this girl. So in a move that surprises no one, the magician orders the village burned to the ground and the girl captured. All the soldiers are made to memorize a picture of the girl, so as not to accidentally kill her, and off they go. There are no robots this time.

They proceed to burn down the village and kill everybody that isn't her. She freaks out and makes a break for it, running into the town hall, and hiding down the tunnel. Like an idiot she doesn't secure the door after her, and the magician starts poking around until he finds it, having been startled at not seeing her at all earlier. He follows her down and proceeds to drag the terrified girl out of there. The village is gone, everyone she knew and loved is dead, she's just having a really shitty day.

They take her back to the place where the king gets her cleaned up, and tells her he wants her to be queen, because having a queen that hates your guts is the best move ever. It also doesn't help that he's old enough to be her father. He gives her a grand set of rooms and some rich girls her own age to be her companions, but they act a little afraid of her because at this point she has like PTSD hard core. Also it becomes rapidly apparent that the magician has also fallen in love with her, and keeps finding reasons to just drop by and chat. Well, things are getting really sticky, and she has no idea what to do. Should she run away with the magician, who burned down her village, or marry the king who hates her religion?

Unfortunately I did not get to see what happened next, as it was time to wake up and I have to pull a bunch of nails out of boards today.

I can't help but feel sorry for her, even though as soon as I woke she doesn't exist anymore. Which is even sadder. I'm just going to stop talking now.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

I want to go to Medevil Times (the resturant.)

While I stating at the hotel for the wake, I happen to pick up a brochure for Medieval Times. For those of you that don't know, Medieval Times is a theme restaurant. Or maybe more like a dinner theater. Basically you sit in a giant arena and watch a bunch of guys in medieval dress duke in out in the ring while eating food straight out of the state fair.


Why do I want to go to this over priced tackstravaganzia? Three reasons.

1. I love horses. I would never own one, because I am poor cheap and lazy, but that doesn't mean I don't want to watch them do entertaining things for an hour or so.


Neigh goes the pony.

2. The men in the brochure are attractive. Meow. Also the king kinda looks like Sean Connery.

Sean Connery?

I find this attractive. Rawr.

This is his O face.

3.You can drink.

The only way this would be better is if they had a dragon. I would pay extra to see that. I mean how can you not want to go see this? There's greasy food, beer, and a high possibly of injury. This should be an American pastime. How can you not love a theme restaurant where underpaid attractive men ride around on horses and smack each other with sticks? I'll bet you there aren't many men in that audience.

Someday I will go to a Medieval Times, and I will get drunk, and it will be awesome. Someday.

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Halloween is coming!

Holy shit it's September already!? You know that means right? Right? Halloween is NEXT MONTH. Sweet Jesus, I have only just started on my costume. I still need to do so much to it. 

Okay stay calm Holly. Step one, find awesome party to go to. Step two, finish costume. Step three, make traditional batch of super awesome Halloween cookies and possibility some Halloween cupcakes. 

The problem is the past two Halloweens I had no fun whatsoever. The first year it was because we were working and I am addicted to money so I did not get to go out, and the second year my stomach broke and my doctor told me I could not eat candy or drink beer. So this Halloween, I not only have to have a good time, I have to have two years worth of good times. Wish me luck. 

It's only, like, the best holiday ever. 

I don't think I'm going to decorate the house mobile home this year because mobile home living is getting really depressing which is why we are going to start building a house next year. Also I use most of the things I buy for Halloween decorations year round, because you can never have too many gargoyles.  

This year I am going as a crazy steampunk lady. I purchased the costume at a Big Lots for 12$. I should probably point out that steampunk is probably on its way out if I can find it at a Big Lots. I didn't even know that you could buy costumes at the Big Lots in August. I think a showed great restraint in not purchasing the magnetic mailbox cover. I wanted that goddamn mailbox cover, but Scott said I shouldn't buy it. He probably said this because we had just finished putting in a new mailbox and adding on fancy lettering instead of the black magic marker jobber on the old one. Mostly though I think it's because he is not a team player.  

Team Halloween that is. 

I wonder if it's too early for Halloween music? Nah, Scott will like hearing the ghost busters theme song and Nightmare Before Christmas for two strait months. 

Duh na dun na dun, duh na na na na duh, when there's something strange, in neighborhood, who you gonna call...

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

The chicken coup floor is finished.

It damned near killed me. We worked all day on this bitch. We started at like nine and just finished the last pour right before it got too dark to see shit any more. 

What you have to understand is that we are using an electric concrete mixer from Harbor Freight that only holds three cubic feet max, and we were mixing at max. So we basically did a 16' by 12.5' slab three cubic feet at a time. Including the run-to-town-to-buy-more-concrete-in-the-middle-of-the-pour adventure. Or alternatively, we are bad at planning. I was in charge of running the mixer, which basically meant that I never stopped moving the whole time. As soon as one batch was done I would start the next one. 

We couldn't have just covered the floor and picked up the next day, because the next day we had like a six hour drive so we could go to a wake. I woke up on the morning of said wake and thought 'oh boy, everything is pain.' I felt like someone had ran my over with a bus. A big bus. Filled with fat people. I drug myself around the house, packing clothes, and toys for our dog who was getting dropped off at the in laws for some spoiling.

Here I am, half dead, wandering around the house holding a cell phone charger in one hand and a dog bone in the other, trying to remember the thing I was supposed to do before we left (shut the windows.) Meanwhile the dog is freaking out because we were doing LEAVING THINGS and she did not want to be locked in her kennel while we were gone. She would follow me around like glue, hugging my legs and getting in the way, the whole time bombarding me with looks of terrible sadness. However her ultimate panic about us leaving usually comes in the form of her trying to stop me from putting my shoes on.


My attempts to explain that she was coming with us failed. Also, my attempt to explain that she should pee now because her next chance would be in Winchester VA also failed. Apparently, she does not speak English very well. Also having never before experienced a car trip with a dog before, I suddenly have a much greater understanding of what it is like to go on a car trip with a young child. 

Me: Sit down! Your going crazy back there!
(She has a special thingy that hooks her to the seat belt, but it doesn't stop her from dancing around like crazy.) 

Dog: Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy, I'm in the car and were going places! Car car car car car car! Places places places PLACES! 

Me: Calm the fuck down. Thats better. 

Dog: Oh no, I'm gonna throw up. NOW


Scott: What the fuck are you two doing!?!

Which is how I found myself half in the backseat, twisted almost all the way around, one hand on the dogs collar one the other holding the blanket under her head. I don't think I was meant to bend that way. 

I think I must have been a walking zombie at the wake, although I tried to explain that it was due to having to build a new chicken coup from the ground up and then I would have to explain that a lived on a hobby farm, and this somehow involved me doing an interpretive representation of the rooster mating dance to several of my coworkers. Shut up I was tired. 

Look, I think the point here is that you shouldn't invite me to anymore wakes in the near future.