Blown Fuse

Smells cleaner than it is.

Mmm, my house smells nice and pineapple-apple-cinnamonny. I had a bunch of generation Z'ers over yesterday for a lunch playdate. What that really means is a bunch of little babies stared at each other in a "So. What size diaper do you wear?" fashion while their moms noshed and chatted about various baby-related things.

Because the true nature of my home is one of chaos and disorder, the event required me to do a good amount of cleaning. I hate cleaning this house because of places like the hallway bathroom and kitchen. The floors in those rooms are so cracked and puckered that I'm more than a little embarrased about them. Oh well, what can you do? They'll get replaced next year. We can't keep NOT inviting people over because we're ashamed of the work the house needs, so we'll have to get over that.

Oh yeah, the pineapple-apple-cinnamon. The house doesn't smell awesome because I did that great of a cleaning job or because I baked pie. I bought a Glade plug-in scented oil refill and tossed a pineapple top into the trash can which has been decomposing in the kitchen all night. I also sprinkled some of that Arm & Hammer Pet Fresh carpet deodorizer on the rug in the front room to neutralize some of the funk created as Bodie and Puffy wallow on the rug as if it were a hog wallow. Makes the house smell all yummy and makes me feel like I should be doing some arts and crafts or something.

Now, because we have cats with no sense of pride in their surroundings, the floors and rugs I cleaned so well yesterday are tracked with fur and cat food crumbs again. Glad I didn't bother to dust.

"Is your refrigerator running?"

Here's the update. The refrigerator repair dude showed up at 11:45. He went out to his van, got the part he needed, and fixed the refrigerator.

He replaced a 3/4" rubber washer and the job took less than fifteen minutes.

It cost us $65.

Fuck going back to work in an office. I'm going to take courses in appliance repair and start my own business. I'll charge crazy rates. The housewives would love me--I wouldn't be very intimidating with an infant strapped to my back, so they won't be afraid to let me in the house when they're home alone.

Brokeback Refrigerator

Unbefuckingleivable. Stuff like this ALWAYS happens to us. We get a bit of a windfall, say such as a tax refund, and some shit in the house goes "kablooie!" That's what happens when you buy a money pit.

I'm not sure when this happened. All I know is that yesterday I was in the kitchen making a sandwich and it felt as if there was water coming through my socks. I squatted down to the floor to see if Puffy Savage had done her business in the kitchen and didn't see any puddles. Cool. I went on about my business (business involving roast beef). Water on the kitchen floor really isn't that big of a deal - maybe I had sprayed a little when I was filling the tea kettle or something, who knows?

Later on, I walked through the kitchen again and AGAIN felt my socks get wet. This time I noticed that the linoleum tiles (shut up - we didn't pick them) in front of the refrigerator were peeling up. I was pissed. I have people coming over on Friday. I pushed it down with my foot and figured I'd cover it with the rug if need be. Then, the little "common sense" center of my brain kicked on and said "Dumb-ass, LOOK UNDER THE FUCKING TILE." So I did that. Twice. Didn't see what the big deal was. After my third cup of tea I put one and one together and finally figured out that the fridge was leaking and the subfloor was soaked.

Heh heh, here's the funny thing. You're going to laugh now. Monday when Scott came home, he asked me if I'd spilled some water on the floor. I answered "Yes." He asked how much. I gave him stink-eye. What difference did it make? I spilled about a quarter of a cup of water on the carpet in the t.v. room while Roland and I were watching Star Trek. I dabbed it up and moved the ottoman over it. I didn't think it was that big of a deal.

So...our lines got crossed. He thought that I had spilled water on the KITCHEN floor and I thought he was making a big stink out of a spill on the T.V. ROOM floor. So...overnight the area got even more wet.

Oops.

You know how normally you can go into the yellowpages, call a service guy, and expect him to be out the SAME FUCKING DAY? Because THAT'S WHAT THEY DO? Because stuff like this is EMERGENCY-LIKE? Yeah, well, they don't give a shit about you. They don't return your calls, they don't drive out to Durham, and they don't come out the same day.

"I'll be out tomorrow. Between 10 and 1."

Fuckers. So, now I have a booby-trapped refrigerator that we can't unplug because there's frozen breast milk and too much food to waste in there.

When we sell this house, I'm going to make sure we replace the fridge first, even if it's just a cheap contractor's model. I don't know what we did to deserve these home improvement nightmares, but I hope our karma is better than the previous owners of this house for wanting to fix them before we sell.

Cupid is irrelevant.

Valentine's Day is a lot more interesting when there's a kid in the picture. Scott and I have been together for 5 1/2 years and tend to go through holidays like a frog bounding from lily pad to lily pad - we never really go all out and spend a lot of effort on one particular one...except for Christmas 2005 - the first time we bought a tree.

I can't even remember what we did for V-Day last year, so that should be a indicator of "nothing." Rosco won't even remember what happened on his first Valentine's Day, but now is a good time as any to start giving him these little events to look forward to. I want to mold him not to give his future girlfriends obviously cheap gifts like the one a certain ex-boyfriend gave me in high school (it was a cheap-ass stuffed bear holding a minature foil balloon mounted on a plastic container filled with hard candy and a single rose in a plastic tube that he got from his job).

Ever since he was born my arts 'n crafts gene has been working overtime and I keep wanting to start projects. Being home full-time certainly allows for a bit more freedom in that regard. I made homemade valentines for Rosco to send to his aunts and grandmothers this year (even though in a state of sleep-deprived delirium I accidentally put the wrong date on the inside: there are at least eight people wondering if that was meant to be some cryptic code). We (meaning I) made a special treasure hunt for Scott that involved enough decorative paper and planning that any Kindergarten teacher would be put to shame. Maybe he'll grow up thinking that it isn't all about the commercial crap, but a time for people to connect (yeah, right). I have to say it was fun hiding little clues around the house leading to Scott's gift - I actually looked forward to setting that up more than the fact that I would potentially get a gift.

Anyway. Rosco got a Valentine's Day outfit to wear for today. Unfortunately, he can't yet fit into his Captain Heartbreaker pajamas or booties...or the matching superhero belt we bought. :)

Simple Pleasures

Mmmmm, spaghetti carbonara a la Rachel Ray. Bacon and scrambled eggs in spaghetti - yet another reason to love the Italians. Great way to use those last few bacon slices that aren't enough to divide evenly between two people for breakfast, too.

Fa-la-la-la-la-fel

On Monday night, Scott and I had falafel in pitas for dinner. I had never had falafel before and had certainly never cooked them, but they just sounded tasty. I tend to have palate a little more willing to experiment than Scott, however he seemed to enjoy them as well.

I was doing some meal planning on Saturday before heading out to the grocery store. This usually involves me sitting in front of a stack of cookbooks looking through for things we haven't tried. There are only so many ways one can cook a chicken before the meat gets banished from the freezer for a few months, so I try to keep things new. When I saw the falafel recipe, I thought back to the tasty bean cake sandwich I made a few weeks ago and figured that it couldn't be all that exotic as the principle is the same.

A falafel is basically ground chickpeas seasoned with some garlic, onion, cumin, and etcetera, formed into a patty, and fried in oil. I was surprised at how tasty they were. We smeared some Target-brand hummus on pita, popped the falafel in, and ate them while they were hot. Yum! All the texture of meatballs without the fat...and meat...

While my local Target does carry a very nice deli selection and offers tasty hummus through their Archer Farms brand, they didn't carry the stinkin' $0.79 bag of dried chickpeas. I had to go to a "real" supermarket for those, but at least I have some left for next time.

Definately try them if you haven't before, but one tip: when a recipe tells you to soak the peas for 12 hours, it means it.

Not even fit to make croutons with.

I'm not at all intimidated by baking bread, even if it means that I have to stand on a step stool to get over it to knead it enough. That being said, I'm incredibly pissed off that I've wasted at least two cups of flour on Emeril's sourdough bread recipe (available at foodnetwork.com). I followed the directions to a "T" and ended up with a bread-scented rock for all my efforts.

I was suspicious after I printed the recipe out that there is absolutely no water added to the dough other than what you put in the starter. The little chef voice in my head said "Go ahead and add a little water - it can't hurt!" but I didn't heed it. I ended up dumping the dough and excess flour in the food processor just to get it incorporated. It never really did - it just ground up into crumbs which I poured out and then patted into a ball-like shape.

The dough never really rose, and I know my yeast isn't to blame. I cooked it anyway hoping it'd expand, but duuuhhhhh, how's it going to do that with no moisture?

The taste test was disappointing as well, but I won't get into that.

I'm going to keep the starter for a little while since I've invested so much time in it and try it with someone else's bread recipe.

So annoyed.

Mmmmmm, tasty :p

I was skeptical, but the more I thought about it the idea of a "bean cake sandwich" started to grow on me. I saw Paula Deen make them last week on her show. Knowing full well that Scott wouldn't touch one, I thought it'd be a great way to get rid of some ingredients I've been holding on to for too long. I'll confess that it made a pretty darn good lunch (and the moistness from frying made last week's bread just soft enough to be enjoyable).

Here's the recipe: Bean Cake Sandwich.

I did alter the recipe by using black-eyed peas instead of white beans (I never buy white beans), bread crumbs instead of flour (I'm out of flour), sprinkled in some red pepper flakes, used ranch dressing instead of mayonnaise (didn't wan to use Miracle Whip)...and I stuck a slice of cheese on it. If the bread holds up, I'll have the leftovers tomorrow, perhaps with a dollop of sour cream instead of the ranch and some green veggie for texture. The probable cost of the sandwich was $0.50. Can't beat that with a stick.

The Great Giveaway Challenge

I guess my nesting instinct has started to kick in, but I'm in full "trash it" mode.

If I don't use it, won't use it, or shouldn't have bought it to start with, it's getting out of my house. Because my husband is a hoarder, we have some problems with space. We just don't have the room to add a person to the house without getting rid of some things, so, anything that isn't nailed down at this point is at risk of being booted (cats excluded).

The link to this entry will go into sidebar and I'll use it to keep track of all the various and sundry things I've parted with. Some of these things could probably go on eBay for a couple of bucks, but as that's such as hassle I probably won't bother. So, here I go.

9/13

F*CK!

You know, I was walking around le gay Tar-zhay (Target) earlier, my mind suddenly focusing in on some kind of fruit pie for dessert. Blueberry - I decided. Target wanted $5 for 4 ounces of berries, so I drove over to Harris Teeter to get those (buy one get one free, kaching!), some strawberries, and some vanilla ice cream to top the cobbler with.

I came home, paid some bills, watched some t.v. When I started culling my recipe pile to figure out what kind of crust I wanted, I realized I DON'T HAVE ANY FRICKIN' SUGAR.

Who runs out of cheap-ass white sugar? NOBODY who cooks or drinks coffee. They always have a back-up bag, even if it's the cheap store-brand stuff they buy "just in case."

I could substitute some with powdered sugar but then my crust won't be as crisp as I like (I like them to have a little chew to them). I don't want to use brown sugar because it'll detract from the fruit tang.

UGGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHGHHHH!

Back out to the grocery store for a damn 99 cent bag of sugar.

Cat & Mouse

I think I forgot to tell you all about our mouse. We had a mouse about this time last year which we trapped in the guest bedroom by shoving a towel into the crack under the door. Several days later we saw that the mouse had eaten its way through the towel, but it didn't show its furry little head around so that was that.

Sunday, I was sitting here at my computer...like hell if I remember what I was doing, but as always it sounded like the cats were in the hallway fighting. They banged against the door to Scott's office, and I turned to look to make sure neither had drawn blood from the other. Quick as a flash I see a little grey mouse shoot down the hallway and into the kitchen. They shot after it.

Quick as a flash my fat ass was standing in my desk chair, bruising ribs in the process. Knowing that I could either try to catch and release the mouse or stand there and wait for one of the cats to deposit the mangled carcass on my rug, I got off the chair. I opened the front door thinking that if the mouse ran that way it'd be home free, but then I thought that my housebound cats would probably run outside into the dark after it.

Eventually, Puffy mauled the mouse into submission long enough for me to trap it under one of those jumbo Taco Bell cups and slide a newspaper under it (which it promptly pissed on). I walked the mouse out the front door and flung it into the yard. It was either alive (or eaten by a bird of prey) as it was gone the next morning.

Puffy now has a short term reprieve for ruining my new chair cushion with about a gallon of cat piss.

Fireside activities and farm-girl tasks.

I'm a hobby whore...that's not to say that I spend my free time leasing my goodies for spare change. I tend to take on new interests without formally dismissing the previous ones.

Take gardening for instance - during the period immediately following moving into this house, I spent a lot of my free time poking around in the yard. Two years of squirrels eating my bulbs and being swarmed upon by the mosquitoes that thrive in the marshy strip behind myself sort of killed the passion. Insect repellant is a sick, sick joke. Back east, I could stick anything in a ground and ignore it. Chances are, if the kids next door didn't trample it, it'd grow. Four months later, you could go out into the garden, wade through the weeds and find yourself a fucking watermelon the size of your car tire.

The clay here is so heavily compacted that the idea of spending a day amending it makes me want to cry. I still want a yard with flowers everywhere, but I don't want to die making them grow. Maybe our next yard will be a bit less of a labor of love.

I think it's part of the Scorpio personality to take on a bunch of new projects because we thrive in making lists and planning things. Hell, that's my favorite part of any project. The idea of jumping into something new means that we have to put pen to paper to create a concrete plan of the abstract idea in our heads. We go full-force on projects for a while, and then the challenge sort of goes away. After that, things become tedious - like work, almost.

The hobbies that have stuck with me the longest are the ones that get harder over time - like music. I know that the more I work at perfecting some Liszt piano rhapsody, the closer I am to realizing how woefully unskilled I am at the next one.

Now for the sake of posterity I'm getting into scrapbooking. So far I've noticed one problem with this hobby: if you think too hard, your page looks like shit.

I may dust a little, yet.

I've been waking up with a stuffy head the past few mornings. It ususally clears up on its own within a couple of hours after waking up. It's so hard to tell whether it's the cat hair piling up and matting to my comforter and sheets that are prompting me to need to wash them earlier than necessesary or if the air filter needs to be changed again.

I'll just open a few window.

It was my plan to do a top-to-bottom house cleaning before we leave for Tampa, so that when we come back the house smells nice (hopefully there will be no kitty "piles" on the floor), and we don't feel like we're coming home to a sty. That's hard to think about. I'd rather think about snacking and television.

Charity begins at home.

I spent a couple of hours this morning cleaning out the closet in what will be the baby's room. Admittedly, a lot of the stuff in there is stuff I just thought was too good to throw out. I've reevaluated that thinking. I'm not a hoarder. I'm the kind of person who'll throw some crap out to buy new crap. My problem really stemmed from the fact that I had a lot of my childhood stuffed animals and whatnot stored in that closet. I have a crate of my favorite late uncle's books in there and some writing supplies.

I'm proud to announce that half of the contents of the closet are now prepared to be picked up by the charity of my choice on Wednesday...as well as some clothes, purses and shoes I'll never wear again. I'm going to arrange to have the county library take the books, and half the stuffed animals are going out to charity.

Purging feels good.

Fear and Trepidation

So, we have a few people gathering here tonight for New Year's libations. I say "few" because I really have no idea how many people are going to show up. I got a firm "Yes" from four. My cousin was supposed to drive up from Edenton, but having car problems sort of squashed the trip. I was really expecting her to be the hub of things so that I would have to do too much entertaining.

I have a bunch of "I might stop by for a little while" commitments from people that I'm not holding my breath for.

Ugh. Well, if it's a small group and we're not too trashed to drive, we can go see the acorn drop. Otherwise....lord, pray for me that no one barfs on my rug.

Cleaning House

I've been moving my work clothes item by item out of the closet in the guest bedroom for some time now. Most of the pieces were hand-me-downs that people gave to me to basically dispose of, knowing good and well that I couldn't fit them either. Some items were home-made and I didn't want to get rid of them because I felt bad that someone had gone through the time and expense to make them.

Over the past couple of months I've been debating over buying myself a new purse. One, single, solitary black purse to use when I'm not carrying my work bag. I didn't buy it because I felt like I already had too many purses I don't use. So, now those are in the donation pile as well. I ordered a new bag last night.

There were only about eight pieces I moved into my other closet to wear. The rest is being set out of donation collection this week. Now there's nothing left in the closet other than a bunch of plastic hangers.

I was sort of disappointed that there wasn't more in there that'll be wearable this winter. I keep putting off the expense of buying pants and work shirts, but I guess it's inevitable.

Something sharper than my tongue

Yesterday I splurged and went to Williams-Sonoma. I came out with a Wusthof knife and a new Epicurean cutting board to use it on.

I've never owned a good knife so I'm a bit scared of the sharpness of this one. I'm most afraid that I'm accidentally going to drop it point-down and it'll fracture one of my foot bones.

That darn cat.

Yesterday we went down to the Animal Protection Society with the intent of looking at some dogs. We got there and saw that they had a lot of Rottweilers. A lot. Sure, they may be cute when they're puppies, but when they get to be ginormous Death Star-sized beasts, they're not really my cup of tea. They had a few others breeds in there but they were already old enough to have developed bad habits. It's not their fault that they were abused and let out into the street, but I'm really not so magnanimous that I want to be their forever-owner.

On a whim, we decided to go into the cat rooms. There was one bastard long-hair that was hissing and trying to bite people through his cage. That was funny. There was another feral cat under a towel trying to claw his way out of the cage. That was funny as well.

There was one young blue-gray cat they'd named Abbie that was hiding under a towel. All we could see was a little patch of head poking out. I asked the volunteer what was wrong with her. Turned out to be nothing--she'd only been there two days and was still scared shitless. When she opened the door and began petting her we saw what was a very pretty cat who enjoyed being petted.

Damnit, I wanted that cat. Herein lies the problem: APS closes its doors at 2 p.m. on Saturdays, and stop letting people play with the animals after 1:30. It was 1:37. We spent so much time with those barking brutes in the kennels that we didn't get a chance to even hold the cat. I certainly wasn't going to put a deposit down on an animal I hadn't had a chance to play with, so we left feeling dejected.

They're closed today. I'm really afraid that when I go back in there tomorrow to get that cat it'll be gone. The more I think of it, the chance of that isn't really great seeing as how no one had taken it in the time we were there, and they haven't even posted the cat's picture on the website yet. I'm going to race down there during lunch tomorrow and put a deposit on that cat. They'll be seeing a grown woman cry if it's gone.

We know we're going to get a cat, so we went and bought everything we'd need to bring a cat home.

Wish me luck on this.

Adding a new bundle of joy to our family.

Don't get your panties in a knot. The Tiffany will not be spawning any time soon.

Scott and I have been debating getting a pet for some time now. Not just your run-of-the mill swimming/running-on-excercise-wheel sized pet, but something that can knock shit over in your house.

I was leaning towards getting a cat because they tend to have a presence in the house without demanding so much of your attention. You dump them a can of smelly stuff into a plate every few hours, scratch them behind they ears, and they leave you the fuck alone. They may occasionally do you the favor of dancing lively jigs on your head when you're late waking up in the monrings.

But then again, dogs can be pretty companionable (unless they're those small lap breeds that bite strangers and scare curious children). There's something quite endearing about the way a dog will put his head in your lap when you're visiting a friend just to let you know that you smell like you belong to another dog and I'm going to stay right here until you smell like me instead--ha ha. I just didn't want to have to purchase a rain slicker and galoshes to be able to walk a dog in this neighborhood when it rains.

I have here a completed adoption application for the county aniaml protection society.

We're going to go down there and look at some dogs and see what's cute and friendly. I preferrably want a very young dog that's already leash trained that won't eat my children when I have them.

...you'll know more when I do.

*zip!*

This is my monthly errand-running day. It's so hard to get things done on weekends, especially when that's when other people choose to do them then as well.

I usually take a half-day after payday to take care of things: medical appointments, oil changes, dry cleaning, etc.

Today, not only do I have people coming out to give me an estimate on getting rid of the mosquitos in the yard, but a landscaper is stopping by as well to gve me a quote. I want to get the yard taken care of before the monsoon season begins so that there may be some minute chance of us growing grass this year.

I need to pick up some Easter/Happy Spring cards.

I need to get my car inspected and an oil change (hello, Jiffy Lube).

I need to pick up a prescription.

This would probably be a good day to pay bills, too.

I may possibly be able to squeeze in a grocery run, too.

Why would I do this to myself?

You take a lot of things for granted when you live in a 1-bedroom apartment, namely washing machines. I would let my dirty laundry stack up until they reached the bottom shelf of the closet and only then would I muster up the courage (and the quarters) to tote them to the laundromat. Fortunately, I purchase underwear in bulk quantities to cut down on my laundry expeditions.

But ah, to have a house. We're going to have a washer and dryer delivered soon (read: dropped off by Dad-in-Law) but first have to clean up the squalor in the laundry room left by the previous owners. Ewwww.

I can't really tell the difference between mold and mildew but there's a sufficient amount of either growing in there right now to require a mask, which I do not own. If I was smart, I'd throw a bucket of bleach water in there, close the door, and hope the magical scrubbing power of the chemicals do the work by themselves. We all know that aint going to happen, huh? Do they make "clean" bombs?

It's so cold in there :(. It's right against the garage and lacks central heat and air which makes it very uncomfortable, and unusually smelly. This place hasn't been properly ventilated since, oh, hmm...never?

What's with the ugly-a** wood paneling in here, anyway? I know the house was built in the 70s, but I find it hard to believe that something so lodge-y was so popular in so many homes.

Ha, and check out the floor. Mm hmm. Yeah, that'll be ripped up. I'm starting to wonder...you know how it is when you go to the laundromat and you're taking freshly cleaned clothes out of the dryer? Well, every now and then you drop a sock, or worse, your underwear and swear very loudly at the fact that the dirty floor constitutes you putting that item back in the dirty clothes pile? (Or not--you just blow it off saying "God made dirt and dirt don't hurt" and wear it anyway). Well, the floor in this room is so un-cared for that if I EVER dropped an item of clothing on it, it'd stay there until the floor is ripped out. It's like Chernobyl--everything left in there gets erradiated by some stranger's filth.

I think we'll bust down the wood paneled walls and put up some sheet rock. I'll paint a black and red bullseye on it for me to pound my head against for buying a house that needs so much damn TLC.