164 posts tagged “fluffy stuff”

I'm one of those annoying people who claims to love every season (and mostly I try too, but autumn will always be my favorite). Yesterday, with very little warning and a tad fashionably late, summer arrived.

With a vengance.

In the last 36 hours, I have:

• driven to Whidbey Island with my 2 dogs and the SC
• helped plant corn with the SC and Ms Lisa (formerly Stidbomb)
• had the SC help feed chickens and collect eggs
• let the dogs run wild
• let the SC run wild
• collected enough shells to power at least 3 craft projects
• tried kholrabi for the first time
• played on a beach and watched the kids play
• watched the sun go down over the Olympics, with a water view
• slept like a child again
• ignored (mostly) the series of tubes
• washed 2 dogs, one small child, myself, 3 loads of laundry, and one 2001 Rav 4
• acquired a sunburn of truly painful but glorious proportion
• mowed my lawn
• ate dinner outside at the 'rents house
• discovered that without the trees that all had to get taken down, my house is 87 degrees inside.

I had a wonderful time on Whidbey Island. We went out to Stidbomb's place (now Ms.Lisa, story commencing) where she has a farm (or two, depending on how you count). Ms Lisa will be selling veggies and eggs and it has been the pet hobby of mine (and others) to provide her with a business name. She didn't want one that required explanation but one that sounded creative, for Whidbey likes to think itself that.

This morning on the phone the SC proudly retold his escapades to his papa, announcing he was at "Ms. Lisa's farm". Ms Lisa's eyes got rather large and she started laughing: she'd found her farm name. I am angling to go up there again, post CC-and-McGuyv-wedding. I am now only half-joking that I want to move there... 

..and then, the Oral....

oh, wait, wrong movie.

I'm getting spanked, however, in the stock bet. Thoroughly, completely, and brutally spanked. This is not mommy's hand spanking, this is go-get-the-belt spanking.  FSLR is up $30 since I predicted its demise (hell, all of the senior shareholders were selling it like hotcakes) (come to think of it, has anyone seen a run on hotcakes? Do people absolutely need hotcakes and will purchase them at any price? I'm pretty good at making them, maybe I should do that instead of stock bets...)

In other fi$cal observances, my other stuff seems to be surviving and beating the index, so that's nice. I also finally got all of my accounts talking to each other and managed to get all of them to quit sending me paper statements. You'd think its' easy but trust me, it isn't. You click "online statements" or "paperless statements" and they keep right on sending them to you, or my personal favorite, decide you're their favoritest most awesomest person and they upgrade you to the superdy-dooper-card and reissue you a new card with a new number and summarily chuck all of your billing mandates. I very much do not heart the online world of finance sometimes.

I've also eliminated my poop scoop service, for reasons I won't get into because people *like* keeping food in their stomach. Suffice it to say that one egregious act of irresponsibility on THEIR part has lost them bucks and gained me a new biweekly hobby. I no longer recommend the people I was using, in the event you want a service, and I highly recommend you talk to people who have had them for more than, say, 8 months before being convinced. Trust me.

Speaking of spankings, yours truly will be at a Burlesque show (not in it, @ it) with CC and assorted other tarted up girlies, in local celebration of the upcoming nuppage. I will be wearing a short skirt and a corset and fishnets and black boots, and I'm really debating on the accessory whip. I mean really, why stop there? I *do* have a kick @ss pair of pink handcuffs... they really should get seen :)

Also, in completely unrelated but similar yayness news, the SC got off the waiting list and into the cool after school program at his new Big! Kid! Kindergarten!, starting in September.

Maybe I should wear the pink handcuffs and fishnets and boots to the first PTA meeting...

I am trying in vain to remember who used this word with me the other day... Here's what Merriam Webster has to say about foible:

foi·ble

Which is altogether interesting because most instances of this word seem to indicate that the minor character flaw is nothing really to worry about, but something to note; like the friend who gets a little too drunk and becomes the life of the party or the friend who never reads the book club book (guilty); the friend who is perpetually 15 minutes early (or late). The idea is that the foible is minor and harmless, a cute cliche to connect to your companion, as it were. (I heart alliteration).

So why is it synonymous with fault? Fault, to me at least, is something to note and be concerned or prepared to deal with; it seems heavier than a foible.

Is it ironic that more often than not you will put significance and concerns to your friends' foibles or faults than those of an acquaintance or stranger? And most often to your significant other? (Assuming you have a significant other and that they have a fault or foible -- GH has neither, naturally) Why is that? Why is it we are less patient or more judgemental with those close to us than we are with complete strangers? I can give a few cases in point but I think everyone here (?) can -- you don't mind the random coworker who has to go out every half hour to smoke because, short of meetings with him/her, you don't smell it or deal with it. But the friend who goes out and smokes you worry: you worry about their health. You don't worry about that guy who comes to your bus stop and sits alone crying to himself, maybe he's depressed or weird or crying happy. You worry about a friend who cries, though, even when it's at something like a Hallmark commercial.

Or maybe you don't, and that's my foible... or fault :) 

Yesterday I hosted not one but two events. Why? Because I am crazy.

First, there was book club, which I hadn't read the book. Fortunately this is a "no-pressure" book club, so I wasn't tarred/feathered/drawn/quartered or even subject to a lashing. Instead I found that I really do want to read this book so I shall somehow procure it.

Then, there was CC and McGuyver's Wedding Shower. I literally ran out of food, which has never ever happened before, so I guess that is good --- people liked it. It was interesting to see how well people knew the bride and groom, via questionnaire. Yours truly didn't do so well, out of 28 questions I would've only got 16 right. Ali, however, got an impressive 22/28 :)

I have 5 weeks to finish the kilt. Fortunately, I'm in the cleanup-here-and-there bits. And the deck is looking fabulous. And it's sunny outside.... I've just been delivered an SC and shall go out to play...

"Why would anyone care if she did her laundry?"

-GH's mom, when hearing about my blog.

To be fair, or at least explanatory, my blog was described to her as my diary (which it is), public (which it is), where I divulge the most inane eccentricities of my life (which I do).

I live in the whitebread suburbia, edgy my life isn't.

About as edgy as it gets is if the Starbucks gal (or guy) gives me unwarranted 'tude, or if the Sammamish police elect to go back to Tully's (they used to haunt there), or if Mr. Wilkerson of 224th street discovered $10 of chewing gum missing from his house (I kid you not, aside from the street number and name, which are not so much to protect the innocent as my inability to remember stupid details, are EXACTLY what appeared in the police blotter.  Yes, someone reported chewing gum theft.)

I live in vanillaville.

I didn't want to. When I was growing up I yearned to be an Egyptologist or an Archaeologist or an Entymologist. I was going to have a doctorate, goddamit, and I was going to starve. Three years into college I had one of those epiphanies which are so self-satisfying and guilt inducing: I didn't want to go live on a fishing boat (my major, at the time, was gearing me toward marine biology) and if I did I would be most likely passed around as a bag of Oreos, attitude or not.

I married a Marine and discovered what vanillaville was: uniform houses, uniform outfits, uniform lives. But I didn't fit in by any stretch: I worked, I didn't want kids right away, I kept Jackson's Chamaelions, I knew how to cook and I knew how to drink. Social pariah, check. But I don't regret it to this day: the same gals who looked down their nose at me for not having kids and for working and for wanting (and actually)  to live off base were the ones who crowded the bar the day after, if not the day of, their husband shipping out. No, thank you.

So imagine my surprise finding, Doc Martens, jeans, spyderco and all, that I am living in virginal, innocent suburbia at 34 (nearly 35). I plan to be on the PTA, and while I will not be the only single mom (Oh, I hope not!) I guarantee you I'm the only one with no victim complex and with a fair collection of boots. I live somewhere where people report TO THE POLICE about their $10 chewing gum theft. Holy Shit, folks. On the scale of life, 1 to 10, as far as personal disaster, this rates about a -18 x10 to the 23rd. Though my life be cushy I recognize this. I also recognize that I am still in vanillaville -- a more Doc Martens friendly one, granted -- and I still don't fit in. Never have, never will, so far as I can see.

Still, I do blog about the mose basic of things. I cleaned bathrooms today, for example. I did a mountain of grocery shopping, thank you Safeway for pointing out that though I spent many times more than that I did in fact save $34. I blog about my laundry, not because I expect it to make any great ends to anyone reading this (but me). My laundry, and its state, do not concern you, do they? Do you need to know that I have been running without fabric softener for the last 2 loads, or that I have (indeed!) a system for my 3 baskets? No, you don't.

But *I* do. For the last 2-3 years (depending on which blog you're operating from) I've chronicled the most base and most acid of my life: the laundry and the dirty laundry, as it were. I go back and re-read, like my own personal Salon of Shame, that which I thought was so important back-when, and laugh (and cry) at myself. I marvel at the persistence of insecurities, the petty habits I try to break (and can't), the florid language and consitent type-os. I wonder at my recurring Vegas trips, like a lemming to the cliffs. I also worry (with slight alarm) at my continual use of analogy and how warped it is.

I'm not a scrap-booker -- I tried, I really tried -- and I'm not a journalist. I don't do composite photo frames (my stepmom does, so that's sorted as far as responsibility), I don't do keepsake ornaments; the only things I have of ongoing trust and preservation that are worth noting is a 150 year old German bible (oh, the irony) and a book of recipes which is the subject of its own paragraph in my will.

So yes, I blog about my laundry. I blog about how often I clean my toilets (honest, it's more often than I mention), my neuroses, my insecurities (well, most), my defeats, my successes, my irks, and my encounters. It's not edited, it's not polished, and it's not (really) for mass consumption, although it's offered therein. I am not seeking validation, a book deal, or even advice, although any and all -- minus the book deal -- are welcome. I blog for cheap therapy, I blog for my own needs, and I blog because it suits my sense of impishness.

And, because I really need someone to give me the lowdown on adding fabric softener to a 10 year old Maytag top loader. 

I shouldn't have bet on the weather as yesterday it rained and rained and rained. 26 each 5 year olds plus 2 teachers plus assorted parentage plus one Woodland Park Zoo = damp goodness had by all. We ate in front of the monkeys, which was only a little odd.

Last night we celebrated P-Ade's bday at my house, complete with 28 candles on a brownie ('twas a big brownie). At any minute the fire alarm was going to go off in my house. The SC chided me for calling P-Ade old, but then agreed that he was much older than me (for the record, I'm 34 and P-Ade is 28, so I am all for him appearing older than me). That took away like 50 ma'ams right there. I think I'll go roll a 20 sided dice as a multiplier, even.

And as of today I'm just wagering things all over the place. I have a private bet with P-Ade, which is one of those win-win things because either way we're going out, and then I have a bet again with A and B and now K over... First Solar, Inc. (FSLR). It's two stage, $20 for end of June and $20 for end of July:

• A: betting July only, says end of July it will be between $230 and 240
• B: betting end of June $230.01-$240.01, end of July $210-220
• K: (K picked the stock and he's a bear) betting end of June $290, end of July $319
• and the Divine Divorcee, Minor Diety in Training picked $220-230 end of June, $190-200 end of July.

I am clearly the most bearish and intend to be, in the news FSLR's top chiefs have been selling off their shares like nobody's business. I don't care how good the pre-IPO was, you don't sell if you have any sort of confidence. I actually think it will be less than my figures. But, worst case scenario I'm out $40, best I'm up $120.

With that sort of wager on the table I think I shall keep my blackjack time in Vegas this weekend to a minimum (yes, V-land: CC is having her 'chette party and I am going to make sure the bride returns from Vegas. Tomorrow I pack my hoochie mama sandals and the corset.)

Let the games begin...

Here I am at work, back to the grind, blissfully not in Dallas. Sure, there's a pile of to-do's for Monday, although not as bad as one would think. All of this plus the fact that I am only working 3 days this week :)

My semi-scientific study on Facebook has entered the realm of combinations now -- I was first Single, and then nothing, then I was Interested, and now I'm Single and Interested. We shall see if the choads come out. Or perhaps my pic is not choad-bait, so I may put up one of my dominatrix ones.

Speaking of the black corset, I may have more than one occasion to wear it coming up soon! First, I'm going to Vegas. Yes, again. Look, I end up going 2 or 3 times a year so this isn't news to anyone, but this time it's for a bachelorette party and I seriously suspect there will be at least one evening of pleasant debauchery. However, the corset requires someone to tuck and yank and squish for me, as it straps in the back, so we shall see. The second occasion will be for the Seattle local bachelorette party, which will be at a bulesque show in West Seattle. The dress code is "lingere, pyjamas, or to the 9's". I will have to seriously regulate my alcohol intake that evening, though, because I am diving with Q the next morning. First time diving since September of last year, so it's kinda a big deal. I think we'll start small with Cove 2 and if I get more adventurous we can plan a Keystone trip.

But meanwhile I sit here, running code and planning an agenda for a meeting on Wednesday -- for tomorrow I'm going to be mommy at the Zoo :) I am so glad to be home...

A thousand apologies for abusing the Beastie Boys' song. But I am crafty, or at least I aspire to it.

Once the kilt is done -- last pleat sewn, so at this point it's finishing up stuff -- I want to build a chicken coop and a potting bench and cupboard and reorganize my garage and paint a couple of rooms and possibly start in on the reflooring of rooms and redo mouldings.

I haven't the time or money or energy, really, at this point. It just muddles about my head aching to be done or at least started.

According to the US Treasury and IRS websites, I should have received my Uncle Sugar money by now, but I haven't. Possible explanations include the fact that I waited until last minute to file and that Uncle Sugar is pissy since I intend to speculate with the money. I am most likely going to get a paper check, which means a trip to the bank, which I'd have to do anyway because they put my 5 year old short-hair photo on my new card -- after I took a new picture.

Well, darn.

In the meantime I gave the economy some Serious Stimulation, via Lowes, with the aid of CC and McGuyver. I purchased a deck's worth of materials. We took up 3 wood carts, a forklift, and a shopping cart, and were the subject of much drooling by those around us (for the obvious deck project, not because we're seriously hot; we're used to those looks).

Thus far the deck is under budget as far as costs, by 33%. In the spirit of my domestic tendencies I intend to take the old deck wood and make it into a chicken coop and a potting bench (once I get done with other projects). This is me, Uncle Sugar, being fi$cally responsible. And I guess by stiffing me you are, too. 'Cuz I'd just turn around and put that money into Costco stock or alternative power companies. Can't have that.

In other news I spent a few hours yesterday moving boxes and playing Mistress of Tetris for GH's brother. One Dodge Sprint + a couple of rooms of furniture + countless boxes, bundles, bags and bedding = one tightly packed van. Like shoving a very fat woman into a very small corset, it all fit but we were a bit leery of opening a door, even when we got to the new house. (The new house is very cute and has a gas station nearby that literally made me bend over and squeal over the price -- I hadn't hit Costco and should've -- but the fact of the matter is my gas budget has gone up by about 50% in the last two months).

Speaking of energy -- CC & McGuyver have just torn up about half of my deck and taken the spa house mostly down, and McGuyver is trying hard not to get electrocuted by my Dad's bailing wire and duct tape monster that heats the hot tub. We shut one of the breakers off and have discovered that two lead into the Thing, the hard way. So if you'll excuse me I'm going to log off for a bit in case I need to call 911. 

My parents came into town on Friday, a bit earlier than expected. However, good news: they have found a house and expect to move soon. This is good because it means I will have my space back :) In celebration of this, I give you a list of what I did this weekend (Aside from fun dinners and family breakfasts and a trip to the dog park): (Yes I did most of this after they left)

• vacuumed
• mopped
• stripped 3 beds and remade them
• laundered 3 beds worth of linens and all of the floor rugs
• reorganized my toolbox
• reorganized my junk drawer
• reorganized my garden gear
• spread weed and feed
• used weed killer judiciously
• moved the south wood pile to the north wood pile
• planted a few more annuals
• cleaned bathrooms
• dusted
• sewed 4 more pleats (I am behind -- but only 9 to go!)
• had Battery Day a month early (if you don't know what battery day is, we can talk)

I *did* do fun stuff, too. I went and took the SC and the girls to the dog park -- on Sunday when it was less oppressively hot -- and we got ice cream and I had appliance lust at Frederick's Appliance. (I want to do Serious Things with my Garage and Laundry Space).

I'm feeling pretty darned accomplished, let's see if Monday can suck it out of me!