Monday, July 29, 2013

We got the Building Permit for the House.

So in a fit of madness today, we went and got the building permit for the house. Of course we hadn't really planned on getting it today, but then Scott looked at me and was all like, we should get the building permit this afternoon. And then my brain was all like oh god that will make it real and then we have to build it and what if I run out of money or the foundation explodes or I get house cancer or what if we have like a heat wave forever and then we can never work on it and then the county gets mad and pulls the permit and I have to live in this mobile home forever and no one will love me ever again because I will be a big fat failure.

And then I was all like, sure we can do that. So I threw everything I thought I would need into my bag and then we went on down to the courthouse. Of course I had brought the plans and a copy of the plans and the septic approval paper work and then we get there and all they do is ask us how many square ft and how many bedrooms and make a copy of the septic paper work and then I paid them 50$ for the permit and we left.

I got the impression that they didn't have many people trying to build their own homes because two separate people asked if it was a modular home and then both of them had to hunt down the check mark on the form that said “site build.”

So then I shoved the permit into my bag and we left and I was all happy but inside I was kinda like, that was it? It was harder to get septic approval then it was to get a permit to build the damn house. They didn't even ask what it was going to be made of.

I could've been making a house out of tires and flaming bicycle parts for all they know.

Although that probably won't pass a electrical and plumbing inspection.

So then we came home and worked more on treating the house logs and then we used the backhoe to start clearing the house and septic site and then I kept thinking that this was finally going to happen and then I kept thinking that I should be super ridiculous excited but instead I just felt nervous as hell because now we have to build this house.

So the next step is clearing the house site and waking up in the middle of the night and thinking really? REALLY?

So I feel kinda weird is what I am saying. Like excitement and terror have smashed into each other so hard that I am left with a new emotion that I can't really identify well. It feels exactly like that moment before you dive off a diving board or a cliff or a rope swing into the water.

That feeling.

I suppose I am just waiting for it to sink in, but I somehow suspect it probably won't until I am out there in 80+ degree temperatures pouring a footer.

Or it might sink in tomorrow and I will end up hyperventilating under my desk.

It could go either way really.

Wednesday, July 24, 2013

Installing the House Spigot

So today, or well yesterday by the time you read this, we installed a spigot in front of our second mobile home. Which I have only been meaning to do, for oh, over half a year now. See in order to have the septic for the house put in we need a source of water. Previously, we cut the line going into the trailer and removed the water pump. So now we had to install an outside spigot. Oh and septic permits are only good for one year because ha, ha, ha, who doesn't love a ticking clock?

I mean it's not like a hear the ticking of that terrible clock even in my sleep. You know, this is totally like the tale tell heart, except with septic systems instead of murder. And of course they would be passing a new law in 2014 that would super fuck us and make this the only year we can do this shit.

Because life is a bitch like that.

Anyway I woke up this morning and thought- for whatever reason- today is the day motherfuckers. So I drug my ass out of bed, fed the ungrateful hungry mouths, corralled the animals that needed medication, started the laundry, ate some food and then got my ass out the door.

First off was the exciting adventure of we didn't actually know where the fucking water line was. Oh don't get me wrong. We knew where it dead ended under the mobile home. We knew where it started at the holding tank. What we did not know was the route they used to get it there. Or how deep it was.

You know, the little things.

So at first we used the backhoe to gently dig out the top layer of soil with all that motherfucking grass on it. Because grass sucks to dig through. Like really, really sucks. Like super sucks. Of course when we did that we were then struck by the wide swath of dirt that may or may contain a water line. So then we started digging. And we didn't find anything. So we made the hole bigger with the backhoe. Which was not only the joy of having a bigger area to dig, but also undoing all of my former progress. Did I mention this entire thing had to be dug and installed in one day to prevent ground water from filling the hole and fucking us?

This whole thing had to be done in one day.

And then Scott got too hot and had to stop working so the second attempt was mostly me. Which involved me going inside the house drinking caffeinated tea like it was the nectar of life and then throwing myself back outside at the cold uncaring world that brought me to this point.

Which was when I discovered the pipe. Which is also when we discovered that none of the adapters we bought would fit that pipe because it was bigger then we thought. Which was when Scott went to town to buy more fittings and I dug out the entire area around the pipe in the shit clay soil that seemed to be, like, 90% rocks and sadness.

 This. I did this.


So then Scott got back and made some sort of crazy super adapter monstrosity and then we got the spigot and all the tools we would need and a sawzall and then we trooped over to the hole. Now, we figured, due to the length of the super adapter, that we would have to cut the pipe twice. Once at the far end and then again where we wanted to attach the damn thing.

What we did not expect was that, when we started cutting into the line, for the water to come blasting out of the pipe like a goddamned fire hose. Since you know, there is no incline or well pump on this, it just comes down from our holding tank with gravity.

And let me tell you gravity was really, Really, REALLY strong that day.

So we freak the fuck out because that magnificent hole I dug is filling up with water and if the end of the pipe goes underwater we are super fucked and not just regular fucked. Because at that point we would have no choice but to let it run until, we ah, ran out of water I guess. It would have been bad is what I am saying.

Of course we still have to make the second cut and Scott wastes no time slapping the sawzall down on the next part of the line but the water is still coming out super shitballs and at one point Scott was yelling at the saw and water was starting to come up over the blade and then the piece finally came loose and then I held the top end of the spigot pipe but couldn't line it up just right. Or at least not without doing that thing where you try to hold the top of the pipe with one hand and the bottom with your other hand and then you become too focused on the bottom and then the top ends up all crooked and then everyone yells at you that you weren't paying attention clearly, even though you were and it's just that this really takes two people. Dammit.

So then Scott had to dive in the hole and line it up even as water starts to spew and fly everywhere and then he dropped the mallet into the water and then he missed twice and then I thought we really were fucked and then he got it lined up and pounded in and water cut off as though by magic and then we realized that we both had been yelling and that we were both really, really wet. Then we had to get a bucket and bail the water out and then we filled the bottom of the hole with gravel and sand.

Then all we had to do was fill the hole back in.

Ha ha that was fun!

Kill me.

So anyway we got that done and we went inside where we had the ceremonial wiping that chore off the white board and we ate food and then I only got half of this written before I said fuck it and when to bed at super ridiculous early.

Because digging all day? Turns out that is hard as fuck.

I mean, I know right?

So now I think I am going to drink tea and get the cat off my lap and try to convince myself to do it all again today.

Sunday, July 21, 2013

A Good Day and a Bad One.

So last night, in accordance with the laws of summer we had a thunderstorm. And in accordance with the laws of our house, that meant that Jack, our sweet doggy boy was launched out from under the bed by the first loud rumble of thunder and sent pacing throughout the house.

Also out was Emoticon our outdoor kitty we have desperately been treating with about a bazillion eye drops in a crazy attempt to stop her from going blind. So because I am clearly the superior pet parent everyone was in my office. Emoticon was being a pest, playing with my curtains and trying to see how durable that internet router was, really.

So finally I had to give up doing anything productive and play with her. Her favorite game being chase the string. Despite having really fucked up eyes she was nailing that string. Like she had some personal mafia like vendetta against that motherfucker.

That was until I realized that she was able to catch it because she could hear it. I was hoping that when I took her to vet in the morning I would be able to tell him that we were totally seeing improvements and maybe we should you know, stop having these weekly appointments because I am totally running out of fucking money.

Watching my poor cat flail blindly at the air while I swung the string back and forth right in front of her eyes, I reflected on the fact that it did not appear we were making any progress here. Also, her frustration with the indoor life was beginning to show. She was sleeping more, eating more and finding more ways to attempt to dive her kitty self through screened windows like some sort of kitty shaped rocket.

I felt bad for her and strangely, even worse for me. Since Emoticon was not going to have to start making quality of life choices here. Finally it got to be too much to let her win all the time, because that shit was totally getting depressing so I put her back in Jack's dog crate and then I spent some time staring at the wall thinking that poverty was a whole less The Noble Simple Good Folk and more like watching the things you love suffer and knowing that the price to heal them might be too damn high.

Wow. I am sorry. This shit is getting dark.

So then I noticed that the dog was really digging at his rump and then I came over to look and found a horrible open weeping sore there. Then I called the husband in and he was all like, we have to take him to the vet. And I was all like, ha ha why not? It's not like work has been almost nothing and we have been eating spaghetti every meal or anything.

After a while the storm quit and we all went to bed. This is also one of the times that I wish my mind would draw a veil over, but it didn't and I couldn't and I kept hoping that I wasn't crying because I still had hope and not that I was emotionally dead inside because I was going to have to sign the death warrant on my own cat because treating two animals was so out of the budget I might as well have been trying to book a cruise through the antarctic.

And then of course shit just got worse. Because at 1:24am I woke up covered in sweat and spent the next half hour throwing up uncontrollably in the toilet. I remember thinking, very clearly at the time, that stress really, really fucking sucks.

Like a whole lot.

So the next morning we loaded up the car and made our queasy way down the mountain to the vet. I did not throw up, but Jack did so only a 50-50 on that win there. So we get to the vet and Jack freaks out and hides under the chair and Emoticon is curled in a ball shaking and won't look at me and I am wondering if I have a complete breakdown in the waiting room who in there is going to judge the shit out of me for it.

So then they call us back and everyone with four legs freaks the shit out and I really want to freak the shit out but someone has to lead this parade and they ask us if we need any more meds and I blurt out the one's we are low on and Scott gives me that look that says I-don't-want-to-influence-your-decision-here-but-we-can't-keep-taking-this-cat-to-the-vet-week-after-week-but-I-don't-want-to-get-blamed-later-when-the- grief-names-start-flying-because-I-don't-want-to-be-called-king-cat-murderer-or-cat-slaying-monster-at-some-point-in-the-future.

Married people can say a whole lot with a look, is what I am trying to get at here.

Anyway the vet asks who we want to look at first and Scott says the cat and then I dump her on the table and the vet does his magic eye light wand thing again and asks vet questions and then he tells me that while her eyes might still look gunky, that he is seeing a lot of new healing vessels and they are a lot clearer and then he does some test where he moves his fingers towards her eyes to see if she reacts and she does and then he tells me that I don't need to come in any more and we can cut it down to two meds twice a day and that I can just come back and pick up meds for her and just treat her until her eyes were clear because both of them look like they will heal.

And then I saw angels. And golden rays of sunshine. In the exam room.

And then I shot Scott a look that said ha-didn't-I-tell-you-that-this-would-work-out-and-that-I-wasn't-going-to-give-up-on-this-cat-and-you-can-suck-it.

Then he looked at the dog and gave us some meds to reduce the itchiness and some antibiotics for his weird skin thing and then we were on our way. I was pleased to find out that the visit didn't cost more then the last time even though we had to take a look at the dog this round.

Then we got home and pilled the dog which I was thinking was going to look just like that scene from Jaws were what's-his-face shoots the oxygen tank and the sharks head explodes, only replace 'shark' with 'dog' and 'oxygen tank' with 'pills.'

And also localized to my kitchen.

Oh and the tiny hard antibiotics were 43$ and the giant motherfucking capsules were 11$ so guess which ones we had to shove down his throat? Luckily Scott just opened his mouth and shoved it in and Jack didn't know what to do and then before he could really think things through in his tiny dog mind Scott offered him a treat with the half dose in it and then he took it but bit right down on the pill. The he spit the whole damn thing out, looked at it on the ground for a second, shrugged and ate it. Then I got him to drink some water to prove he wasn't going to hork them up again.

Which I think makes Jack the best dog ever in the history of ever.

Pretty sure.

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Gathering the Hay.

Today we gathered the hay. And it sucked. First off while it was technically only 82 degrees out, it was also humid as fuck. Like your sweat does nothing puny mortal humid. It was like the weather gods were laughing at me while I slaved away under the fucking sun. Also whenever I would give in and take a break a cloud would roll through but whenever I was like, whelp, time to get back at it the sky would be clear forever.

Asshole sky motherfucker.

Second, they were calling for thunderstorms later in the day because of course they were. Of course at this point I probably really wouldn't have been surprised by a rain of frogs or snakes or someshit either.

So we only waited until noon for the dew to burn off before we staggered out of the house with pitchforks got the truck and headed off to meadow number one. This was the sparsest meadow, so it only filled up the entire pickup truck. So the whole time we are filling it I am eye balling the storage shed, hoping that this entire load fits in there because if it doesn't they the other three fields are going to have to be tarped and we will be back to square one where I am fighting a foot of snow off a giant tarp every time I need hay in the winter.

And nobody wants that.

Of course we try to cram another entire meadow into the truck along the way because ha ha why not? I mean it's not like there's any reason to keep the hay below the cab right? I mean it's totally not my fault that Scott got too hot to work and there was a bunch of hay that got caught in the drivers side door right? I mean like, when I'm all like, it's time to move the truck and he's all like I need a moment I should totally continue to pack it right?


Anywho. Finally we get to the point where we can't pack hay into the back of the truck anymore because it is starting to list to one side like a rusty container ship with a leak. So we go offload it into the storage shed. Which only really fills it up halfway. So then I feel super awesome that this shed is shedding like a champ and then we have to go fill the truck again.

Which if I haven't made it clear, is the really shitty part.

But we got it filled and everywhere on my body was sweating by this point but the breeze was being a dick so I pretty much had to deal with feeling like I had been caught by one of those plant misters. Except one that had been filled with salt water.

Anyway, despite my complaining we filled up the truck with another two meadows worth of hay. Which I was desperately hoping would all fit into the storage shed it had only taken us, like a fucking month of our lives to build. And then we drove over there and started cramming hay in and more and more kept fitting like some sort of fucked up reverse clown car until I was looking at an empty truck. And then we both looked at the shed.

Which I am pretty sure at this point was folding space time in on itself.

And then we went to do the last meadow and repeated the whole process again. Except this time I had to climb up into the shed and squash the hay back down, which was both the most comfortable and also the most itchy thing ever. You would think those two would be mutually exclusive, but it turns out they aren't. Yeah I know I was surprised too. Either that or it was the heat talking.

So then we really did have to shove hay in until we couldn't get anymore in there and then I made a separate pile to use this summer and stored some for the bunnies in there spare cages and told everyone that they had better fucking appreciate this come winter.

And then the chickens showed me their appreciation by jumping up in the shed and pulling the hay back out so I had to cram boards in the door way like the worst puzzle ever and then they had to content themselves with pooping all over my porch.

In appreciation.

Sunday, July 14, 2013

Making Hay and Storing Hay.

So a lot has happened and I meant to write separate posts about it but then I started putting the slats on the sides of the hay storage shed, but then I was so busy that I could only put a few on a day and it felt like I was making no progress and there was never a convenient time to write about it.

Mostly I was putting them on myself because Scott was trying to fix our old/new car and that was more important then putting like, a billion or so slats on this thing because we need to be able to get back and forth to work and shit.

Anyway after what seemed like forever in which it kept raining and I couldn't make hay and we kept treating the cats eyeballs and the car kept demanding that we replace all the oxygen sensors and the office was not giving us enough work I think at some point I finished the damn slats and then went and had some sort of quiet nervous money based breakdown in the woods where I reenacted that scene from Gone with the Wind where Scarlett holds up that motherfucking turnip and yells at the sky that with god as her witness that she will never be hungry again. Except being me I just cried a whole lot and yelled a few obscenities at the sky and then fell back to worrying that I am going to freeze/starve this winter.

It was all a little fuzzy.

And of course the cats eyeballs are still shitty and we have to keep treating her and I feel like I might have more luck just rubbing hundred dollar bills on her eyelids at this point but whatever. Oh and it seems like a bunch of shit like corn and beans that we Scott planted didn't come up at all because ha ha fuck you and your shit dreams Holly.

Sorry. I'm a bit bitter. Here have a picture.

This. This looks like Tim Burton made it. I am absurdly proud.

So in the midst of all this we had three sunny days coming up. Or at least not rainy. So we made hay. Sorry I mean Scott had to take the car in and get new expensive ass tires and I had to make hay. In which Holly was haunted by the ghost of back injury's past, and also haunted by by the fact that when you run yourself to nothing and life is grinding you down like the rocks at a sea shore suddenly finding you have to make two meadows of shit balls thick hay yourself until your man gets back is like trying to climb Everest while wearing tennis shoes and a swim suit made out of tissue paper.

Whenever it felt as though I couldn't go on I would go back inside and drink tea and sharpen my scythe. At one point all I could do was drink tea and lay on the floor and stare up at the ceiling fan and pray that I could find the energy from somewhere to get back up.

I am telling you all this because those of you who have called me a badass and said that am I super strong amazing person with a work ethic the size of Texas were totally right, but that doesn't mean that I don't break down and end up laying on the floor trying desperately to will myself to get back up and go back to work even though I feel like everything is turning to ash in my hands the harder and harder I try to hold it. 

 I'm human too you know.

And then Scott got home and I made him get his ass back in those fields despite his feeble protests that he had just got home and had a sprained ankle and it was alike 86 degrees outside. So then we finished the field I was working on and did most of another and then I had to stop because heat exhaustion is a thing that I get very easily now and I think I was getting it.

Of course I didn't let that stop me because I woke up at like 6:30am the next day and cut as much of the meadow as I could get done before the sun found me because I am not going to let a pesky thing like possible illness fuck me out of my goddamned hay.

Also throughout all this I painted the damn storage shed with occasional help from Scott when he had the time.

Shapow! Motherfuckers.

Then I went and passed the fuck out and took a day off to just touch up the paint job on the shed and make cookies while the hay was drying so that all I have to do today is bring the hay in. Which of course it's going to be much cooler today because the weather just likes to fuck with me.

But I am stupid excited that I did my goddamned homework and get to put the hay INTO A SHED and not under a tarp in the middle of a field. Because putting all your hay under a tarp and then having it snow a shit-balls-ton was the most not fun thing ever. Like, oh I know you just shoveled the driveway and the paths to all the animals and the porches and around the wood stove shed, but here you go shovel a slippery ass tarp off in crotch deep snow. And don't forget the wind is a motherfucker so you'll have to do this again tomorrow.

Mostly though because it cut unacceptably into my Skyrim game.

Also I felt really good about my decision making skills when Scott came home and told me that everyone else was making hay too. Because I have only been doing this a few years and the rest of these guys have been farming for like ever, and that means that I win at hay making. I think.

In conclusion, yes even I too have days when just getting up off the floor was the hardest thing I have done in the history of ever, and yes I really did construct an entire hay shed to give me more video game time in the dead of winter, and it's all okay now because I have cookies. And that when life has kicked you right in the lady lips and has you down the best thing to do is give it the finger until you can stagger back up and punch it right in it's smug lifey face.

And tell it Holly sent you.

Thursday, July 11, 2013

My Cat has Only One Functional Eyeball Now.

So todays vet visit went poorly. Both from the news that her left eye has shown no improvement and may have possibly already burst and I really don't want to think about that right now. So, long story short, they have may to take out that eye.

Those sounds you are hearing? That's me dry heaving.

I'm going to try not to think about that either. I am also not going to think about the fact that I have to repeat the treatment for another week.

Mostly because putting in the eye drops was a goddamned adventure. Trying to do it by myself was like trying to wrestle a small bear that had really powerful squinting muscles. Finally Scott came over and helped me. I would like to think this was altruism on his part, but likely he got tired of listening to me yelling about how this medication had cost me, like a hundred dollars.

Luckily we have developed a system where he holds her head and I administer the eye drops and Emoticon closes her third eyelid just to fuck with us.

Also it turns out that at the clinic they had only one vet working who was in surgery, so I spent a lot of time staring at the posters in the waiting room and trying not to think about how much this time was going to cost me. During all this, while I was trying not to look at the Hookworm poster because it was saying something like 'you and your pet could have this RIGHT NOW OMFG' when the vet tech popped in to grab Emoticon to do some blood work. She left the door ajar, and before I knew it one of the resident vet kitties slipped in. Walking around like she owned the place this new kitty investigated Emoticon's carrier and then set herself into a corner for a wash.

Which was when I noticed that this new kitty only had one eyeball.

Ha, ha, life you are a bitch sometimes.

Getting down to pet new kitty I saw she was wearing a name tag. Helen Keller.

Ha ha life, you are a super bitch sometimes.

About that point the vet returned carrying a terrified Emoticon in her arms and I was all like, “this cat just came in and-”

And she just smiled a little smile and said “looks like someone has a visitor” before she slipped out the door.

So then it was just me in a room with two half blind cats. So I covered Emoticon with a towel and petted her and watched Hellen Keller and another mystery cat play that paw under the door game and listened to a dog yowling that sounded just like Gollum.

Finally the vet came in, looking like he had been through the ringer and we had that conversation that Holly did not want to have. That there was really no improvement in the left eye at all and that it was possible that the cyst had already broken and at this point we needed to see how much discomfort she was in before deciding whether we should just take it out but hey lets give it another week and we'll see what happens.

Then we were just two tired adults staring at each other across a metal table who were having really shitty days, just for different reasons.

So then I put Emoticon in her crate and we went to go buy auto parts and I tried not to think about it very much. Except now I have to think about it because she has just crawled into my lap and won't stop purring and shifting around AND CAN'T YOU JUST STAY STILL FOR TWO SECONDS?


Anyway. So now I don't know if I should feel like a failure because I/we/the medical establishment failed to save her eye, or whether I should be happy we saved the other one, or whether this is all too soon and I need to give it more time and hopefully it will improve.

Emotions are like, fucking hard, man.

Also hard?

Typing with one hand because the other one is under a cat.

Monday, July 8, 2013

So We Purchased Another Vehicle.

So, as many of you no doubt recall our car died. Well, it didn't exactly die. The engine still worked and it would start up and run and everything electrical would spring to life at our command, it's just that the drivers side wheel bearings are shot. And that is a dealer serviceable only part. Also due to our car being, “one of dem foreign cars” there wasn't a dealership within a two hour drive of my house.

The advice of the dealer was to remove the entire wheel bearing assembly, bring it in, have them fix/replace it and then take the new and improved part back and reattach it to the car. Either that or we could have it towed the two hours or so.

Needless to say that wasn't about to happen.

So we parked it at the top of the driveway, wrote 500$ or best offer on the windshield on it in soap and hopped into our 84 Chevy Truck to go car shopping. After of course we wrestled three separate eye drops into the cats eyeballs because life can never be you know, boring.

So the first place we stopped was the crazy chop shop used car lot that is located in town. Our first mistake was telling them the price range we were looking for. Our second mistake was entering the damn lot in the first place. It wasn't so much the cars, but the lady in charge of selling us shit was seriously creeping me out. First off she was like, meth skinny. Also it looked like at one point in her youth she had used too much tanning solution. Plus, she had this weird habit of taking all her jewelry off and snapping it back on while she was talking to us. So she would be telling us about this wonderful super not put back together after some horrible accident, nope never, car, while her watch would be going, snap, snap, snap. And about how they had just gotten in a little silver car that would be just perfect for us as the little metal beads on her bracelet would be going clink, clink, clink. Overall it was a lot like talking to a mummy someone had unearthed in the desert sands somewhere and taught the fine art of retail to.

The second place we stopped at had nothing under 6000$. Which when you are poor is like, a million fucking dollars. That guy seemed all right, except he had a big long list with all the prices, because putting the price on the car itself is apparently too damn hard. He was trying to sell us on a Chevy Cobalt but I nixed that one in the bud when I opened the trunk and saw the battery was in there with the spare tire doughnut.

No I am not shitting you. The battery was in the fucking trunk.

Oh but it was totally okay because he assured us “you can still jump the car from the front.” Great. Wonderful. Motherfuckers. It's not like it would be totally inconvenient for me to take all my shit out of the trunk every time I need to disconnect the battery to work on the car. Like ha ha, that would not be shit balls stupid at all.

So at this point we hopped back in the truck, picked a direction and drove in it.

We ended up washing up at a Chevy dealership. We got out of our dingy beat up pickup and walked past all the shiny new cars to the doors. Inside the lobby we were greeted by a very friendly pregnant lady. She asked what we were looking for. Scott started in on the litany, used good gas mileage, not too many miles, but at this point I was sick of it all so I was like just show me something old.

She was like, how old?

I was like, older then 2005.

She told me they had two things. Then she explained that the reason no one else in this entire fucking area would sell old cars was because they couldn't finance them so they shipped them off to a wholesaler. Then I was all like wow it's like this entire society is set up to try to lure me into being in debt. Which is totally fucked up. If by fucked up I secretly mean horrifying and terrible.

Luckily she had two things. A tore up mostly dead Oldsmobile, and a 1999 Toyota Avalon. We poked the Avalon. We looked under the hood. I laid across the seats and took a flashlight to under the dash. Two things became apparent. One it would need some minor work, a tail light was cracked, and the check engine light was on, but over all it looked pretty good.

We asked about price. We made it clear we could fix it ourselves and that they didn't need to do much to it. She quoted us a price. It was below 5000$. Which when you are poor is like winning the car lottery.

We made plans to come back, hook up our neato vehicle code reader to it after they had addressed a few issues and made it pass a WV state inspection.

To make a long story short, we went to work, came home from work at 3am, got up drove to the bank, drove to the dealership, gave the car one final inspection and bought it.

Because fuck you financing.

It still needs some work, as in replacing the oxygen sensors and a motor mount, and new tires, but overall it's a great old car and I feel pretty good about all this. It's also a Platinum Luxury Car. Which in 1999 speak means there is a CD player in the trunk.

Ha ha retro.

I think I am a hipster now.

A car hipster.


Wednesday, July 3, 2013

Of Sick Cats and Cars.

Let me start off this entry by saying that Emoticon, my sick kitty is driving me nuts. She is used to being outside. All the time. Wild. Free. Unencumbered by the trappings of society. So lets just say that trying to keep her in the dog crate so I can treat her every six hours is slowly degrading her tiny kitty mind.

And taking mine with it.

The two days or so was fine. She seemed to accept being in her crate, used her litter tray neatly, and spent most of her time looking out the window and sleeping. Which was a good thing, because we were playing Drive to All the Used Car Lots Game. This was also combined with the Try Not to Freak Out Because Everything Ever is at Least Two Grand Over Your Price Range Game.

These are not fun games.

However at some point she realized we weren't going to let her go back outside. And that we weren't going to stop giving her eye drops. So that when I got home from work last night, Emoticon was entering some sort of full blown kitty tantrum.

When the loud pitiful/angry meowing failed to produce a cage opening epiphany in her human caretakers she moved on to phase two. Phase Two involved grabbing everything she could reach through the metal bars of the crate and attempting to drag it in there with her. While I could steadily ignore phase one, phase two did succeed in drawing my attention. Because in the span of about, oh ten minutes she had managed to drag the following things into her crate: a rain coat, a curtain, a hunk of trash bag, the top and strap of a backpack, half of my cloth tool bag, and two towels.

Of course I moved everything out from her nefarious clutches that she could possibly hook her claws into, which prompted her to bang out a drum solo on the plastic tub that her litter comes in, and also a magnificent double drum solo on the jugs I used to water the animals in the morning.

While I was trying to watch a movie.

So there I was, head phones on, trying to be oblivious to to the wailing, drumming and scratching, determinedly watching my film while possibly praying for the sweet release of death. Or deafness. It gets pretty bad when you can't tell the Epic Movie Battle Sounds, from the Pissed Off Cat Sounds.

Finally I let her out. The problem with letting her out, is that she is an outdoor only cat. She has no concept that the things in my house are both valuable and breakable. So far she has drooled on my laptop key board, sharpened her claws on the window sill, knocked over everything on the coffee table, tried to bust through a window screen, toppled a trash can, tried to get in a fight with Tom Tom Tiger through the glass sliding door, fell into a back pack, knocked over Scott's hat, eaten a fuck ton of the dogs food, and forced her body between my desk and the window, knocked over the router, and thrown kitty litter in at least one pair of shoes.

I had always had indoor cats prior to moving to the country, so it came as a surprise to me how much of a tornado of destruction an outdoor cat in the house can be. Also, another thing, outdoor cats are strong. Like indoor cats? Butterballs. Mostly fat. Don't move a whole lot. Outdoor cats? Solid muscle.

So all in all I try to keep her contained as much as possible.

Although it was all worth it when she finally settled down and jumped up into my lap and curled up and then we watched the end to the movie together and she purred like a little motorboat and then the movie was over and we just sat there and I petted her and she closed her eyes and I thought that maybe things were going to be okay after all.

Until I had to put her back so I could get some sleep and she wailed for like, a motherfucking hour.

But that's okay because in the end I am sure it will be worth it and we can save her eyeballs and then she will stop misjudging jumps and taking everything down with her.