Oh, and that ceiling fan/hazard thingie hanging by its wires has to go. I'm standing on a stool for painting the ceiling, which is only 8' high. To think I was lamenting not having a 9' ceiling... Anyway... this is what I've been up to lately. I want things to move forward on the home front so I can have company. I want my sister to come visit and bring her wiener dogs and her kids. It'll be a party. :) And my mom and pop. And Lin. And Christina. And Peter. And Holly and Johnny. And all my friends. One or two at a time, of course. It'll be sweet.
I'm glad I have the hallway finished. That's a good reminder that it's possible to make progress. I recall just a month ago looking at it and thinking I'd never be through. Then again, a house you live in is never really finished, is it? It's just this one had a lot farther to go when I started than one is usually dealing with. I'll be in high SQUEE mode when I have a finished bedroom to show you. Promise not to laugh at my heart-shaped bed with the 70's pimp red velvet tufted headboard, mkay?
Oh, and this is your final shopping day before My Birth Month™. We shall be celebrating all month. Yes, we shall. :) Champers tomorrow night, yes. I think so. Yes. Yes.
Did I mention the elk hunt?
Dad suggested I take this Browning for the elk hunt. Pop got this rifle about 25 years ago, and it's killed a lot of deer. He said he felt plumb sorry for one deer he shot with it. He held his hands apart and said it blew a hole this big in the thing. I reckon at least it was quick.
Poor elk, though. Bad news is on the way.
Oh, and I'll have to show you the $1950 Colt's Elite Python I slobbered over this weekend at Ray's Sporting Goods. *whimper* It were purty.
Notice how they set up the wienerdogs to look evil. How could they be naughty with all those warm, fuzzy wrinkles?
Overnight Friday and Saturday in Dallas. Lots of mean, nasty traffic and I'm missing my Furnacle™* and my Chiweenie. It's a terrible thing to be away from one's dogs. Home again Sunday afternoon. :)
See the original trailer here.
*™: fur barnacle.
Thursday night I pulled the right front tooth on this boy:
He bore up manfully. His folks mentioned he had a tooth wot needed to come out, and I'm sure the wheels were greased by my offer of $5 if he'd let me pull it. He said "for $100, I'll let you pull my head off!" What a cutie! Nah. I'd rather pull the little teeth $5 at a time. Plus, he's nice to have around. I scrubbed up, sheathed the tooth in a piece of saran wrap, and a good little tug liberated the tooth from its fleshy prison. Fly free, little toothie!
Friday night I pulled this one:
This one was being pushed aside by the permanent tooth coming in behind, and this one was barely hanging on. He has another loose one, and he's a pretty tough guy... Today we may make a three-fer of it.
What's funny to me is kids who'll leave the tooth flapping in the hangar for weeks, loose. I liked pulling my baby teeth. When one went wobbly, by golly, it was coming out. I've pulled teeth for lots of little kids, and I haven't always had to bribe them to let me do it. One squeamish friend would always ask me to "take care" of her daughter's loose tooth- they both were grossed out by it. What can I say? I'm a giver.
What baffles me is that most of these teeth come out with no effort-- I don't know how they managed to keep them in so long. Both these baby teeth came out clean as a whistle and with barely any foundation remaining to hold the tooth in. My teeth came out with their little shanks fully intact, blobby little chunks of flesh still holding on around the edges. I suppose that flesh figured it would stick with the winner. They figured wrong. Anyhoo, the teeth were coming out.
I went with my parents to see Jerry Clower when I was a little kid. He was hilarious.
In the bathrooms at Sweetie-Pie's Ribeyes in Decatur, they play Jerry Clower stories all the time. When I met Holly there a couple weeks ago, this story was playing and I had to stay long enough to hear the end.
Turned out ACORN was the little shit-stirrer wot organized the busload of crazies.
Mebbe someone should organize bus tours of conservatives to drive by ACORN locations?
Sauce for the goose...
Oh, here it is:
I got another bedroom cleared away and now it's ready for cleaning and painting. Within the week, I may possibly be moved into my new bedroom. Meantime, I'll be putting an extra shelf in the closet, cleaning and conditioning the very nice hardwood floor, layering all walls and ceiling in Kilz2, and then painting same. Then there will be new mini blinds. It's going to be very nice. I'll post some photos this weekend. :)
What is it about fresh paint that bugs--particularly moths-- find so irresistible? I feel sorry for the little fellows, even though they are pesky. Now the mosquitoes, well, I just laugh at them. Haw! Haw! Haw! Now I know vengeance.
Driving home from town with friends this afternoon, we all simultaneously expressed surprise at the beaver on the side of the road. I asked the driver if we could make the block and swing back around so I could snap a pic. Got out to look and it was a marvel.
Vex no longer, darlings! I have the answer right here: latex wigs.
I'll let that sink in for a moment.
You may select this insouciant blonde flip-do. Very chic if you've the right coloring for it.
Though the bouffant-action could do with a bit more loft, we greatly admire the Hawaii-Five-OH! Book 'im, Danno!
I must admit great personal bias in favour of the Elvis 'do. Bonus points for the glasses. Come to that, the glasses alone are worth their weight in hours of good, clean fun year 'round. I know I'm getting mine!
Someone cobbled together this video to Aha.
Anyway, it's rather sweet that as the summer wanes we can sit back and watch bemusedly as one ACORN tumbles earthward, its rotten fruit now suddenly unsupportable when exposed to the light of day. Dance with the one wot brung ya, they say. If you carried the water for ACORN you may as well own it, because everyone knows you stink on ice anyway. The shoe fits, and all that stuff.
Remember the bailouts and how a forced "gift" to ACORN was cobbled onto the deal by the legislators who bunged up the whole housing thing in the first place? More stinks-on-ice high-jinks.
Let 'em dangle.
Bug Tussle Dry Cleaning and Chainsaw Repair:
Out here they have Real Cowboys. Apparently when they have jeans laundered at the cleaners, they like a lot of starch in. I got some new jeans last time I was in Dallas, and I finally took them to a dry cleaner in town to have the legs, uh, shortened slightly. Filling out the slip, the lady said "starch?" I said "no. In fact, don't dry clean these. Just launder them. No pressing."
Picked them up last week and wore them Wednesday. Guess what? Starch. Starch out the gills. These jeans are so starched-up that they could stand on their ownsome. Add to that the label inside is all starched, folded wonky and pokey in very irritating ways.
Long walk a few nights ago I got to meet the local shit-stirring eccentric with the inflammatory website and all. He knows where all the bodies are buried, but keeps folks guessing by couching the tidbits amongst deep, murky layers of pickled red herrings. Interesting, though.
I was told before coming here that I'd have some serious work to do if I aspired to be the town weirdo. Looks like they wuz right. Still, it's good to have goals.
I love just knowing there's a band called We Were Promised JetPacks. Yet more clever Glaswegians.
More about We Were Promised JetPacks on MySpace.
...I think it's going to be a good day when I've swabbed Kilz on the entire laundry room ceiling, most of the kitchen ceiling and lacquered my nails all before breakfast.
Midnight addendum: it was a good day!
You know someone is an icon of cinema when they are treated reverentially in Hot Fuzz.
Then there was Road House: a tough bouncer is hired to tame a dirty bar.
He had a pretty good run of it, I think.
Bless 'em, every one.
Funny how un-puNk Sid & Nancy is in French, c'est vrai, oui?
Still, my dad reads my blog and this scene has the c-word, and I'd like to keep him innocent, so here's to losing things in translation.
What a capital idea.
May it be thus.
Sweetie Pie's has chicken fried ribeye steaks. Om nom nom. Their gravy is a lot like my Gramma Bertie's, too, so that's mighty high praise. A large group came in and was seated at the table next to ours and the gentleman next to Holly started a conversation and we proceeded to cut up with him on and off as we ate our lunch. At one point, he said to Holly "I know you can cook, but [looking at me] you, can you cook?" He held his hands up all dainty-like, as if he didn't want to get them dirty. I said "I'm a superb cook. Why would you say that?" And Holly enthused "she is an excellent cook" and he said "well, you just look like you expect someone else to cook for you." I was gobsmacked. I LOVE getting my hands into dough or getting them covered in yummy garlicky smells or just messing around, preparing food. I revel in that. Later on I remarked a bit indignantly to Holly that he should have said such a thing, and Holly took what was obviously great delight in saying "well, you ARE a princess," and then she nearly laughed her head off.
The Wheeling, W.Va., Intelligencer ran the photo inside and an editorial explaining why it did "after hours of debate."
They defended their choice thusly:
"Too often, we fear, some Americans see only the statistics, the casualty counts released by the Department of Defense," the newspaper wrote. "We believe it is important for all of us to understand that behind the numbers are real men and women, sometimes making the ultimate sacrifice, for us."
No matter how how preoccupied or stressed out or caught up in my personal moment, no day passes in which I don't think of our uniformed men and women at home and abroad and thank God for their service and for the service of those who have come before. We are indebted to them. I am sick of the arrogance of the folks at newspapers and news networks who think they are the only ones who get it, that they are the only ones with a sense of gravity about what is going on in the world and what our men and women in uniform face on our behalf.
How shameful for a news organization to be so disrespectful as to publish this photo in defiance of the wishes of the family of the young man therein.
No, in fact. They don't get it at all. Call me cynical, but I think this is a ploy to diffuse and de-fuse the rancor many are voicing for what our legislators have been doing at home. Doubly shameful, I think.
This is why readership of newspapers is plummeting.
"He alone, who owns the youth, gains the future."
“When an opponent declares, "I will not come over to your side," I calmly say, "Your child belongs to us already... What are you? You will pass on. Your descendants, however, now stand in the new camp. In a short time they will know nothing else but this new community.”
Guess who will be addressing our nation's children in public schools on September 8th?
Better option: home schooling.
I totally want a tractor now. :P
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