I

And right on time, we have another Alabama Winter Storm of the Century!

2008.

2009.

2010. This year, we're going to leave off that part about "So Far Because I'm Going To Need A Better One", because I think I've been tempting fate. I should have been more specific. I want SNOW storms. Winter storms can include ice, and Mother Nature finally found that loophole in my pleadings. It looks like that's what we're in for around here (loopholes, which in this instance is ice). Now, ice has some of the same positive aspects: it's getting The Professor and me a day off work; I get to have a celebratory beer at 3:40 in the afternoon; my favorite meteorologist will have a long-form weather special this afternoon. The negatives? Oh, the little possibility that ice will end all of this happiness as we know it. I went out to get a picture of something noteworthy, but so far the only thing noteworthy is my windshield, which is a solid sheet of ice. The driveway is on its way to becoming an ice field, but luckily I only had to take one step on it to get to the car. Knowing my graceful self, you might say "But, D! That's one step to many!" And you're right, I dared fate when I took that one step. Which is why I think I'll stay inside until it's all gone. The next time I step outside, Mother Nature will probably have teleported a polar bear to my front yard to teach me not to taunt her about Alabama Winter Storms of the Century. PS: Why in the world do I not have a weather label on this blog? I've been putting all of these under "domestic bliss"? The Professor could care less about my weather ramblings. I blame the wine I was probably drinking for the lack of motivation to create a new label. Just as I'll blame the beer I'm drinking now for the lack of motivation to create a new label. See? I'm consistent in my laziness!

Property Improvement Tour Part IV

So, let's go through the run-down of what I've already spelled out:

1. Replace Lawnmower.
2. Repair Harley.
3. Replace Dishwasher.
4. Repair A/C.

Around the time that the lawn mower died -but before the dishwasher died - The Professor began talking to a Neighbor who who happens to have been a boss for a concrete company for some many years, and happens to do some work on the side. Also for lo these many years, The Professor and I have wanted to expand and screen in our back patio. It's not really big enough for everything we have crammed out there. And I want a June Bug free June. Old June-Bug Infested Back Patio: One night, The Professor came home early from his evening walk and tells me he's been talking to Concrete Dude, who as we speak is going around the house to our back yard. An hour later, we had a plan that included a six gajillion metric tons of concrete and my backyard. The Professor was giddy. All he could think of was the 300+ square feet that he would no longer be required to mow. Yes, please go read that again: Over 300 square feet. 3/4 the size of my living/dining room combined. Our total patio now clocks in at 425 square feet. Ok, I may have been a little giddy too. Fast-forward two weeks, to the evening that Concrete Dude is supposed to come out and start tearing up the ground to prep it for this glorious Outdoor Escape we will build. That just happened to be the same night that Friend J got electrocuted because *someone* <> flipped a switch the wrong way while he was hooking up our latest new dishwasher. I briefly thought of cancelling - we seem to be bleeding money this summer - but The Professor got all rational with the "We're fixing things out of that Emergency Fund you made up build, it's not a crime to use 5% of it!" followed by the "We have the money saved for the concrete already, too!" and finally toppled me over with a round of "Let me pour you a(nother) glass of wine". So. We have a Mass of Concrete in our back yard. And it is a thing of beauty...or as much as a Mass of Concrete can be, anyway.

Appliance Tour 2010 Part III

I really should have led the whole “We-are-nincompoops-when-it-comes-to-home-ownership” stories with the facts that in the two weeks before the dishwasher died: A) We had to replace our lawn mower, and B) The Professor had to take his Harley into the shop because it wouldn’t start. If I remember correctly – don’t hold your breath here – it was something to do with a spark plug or a fuse or maybe a spark fuse? Whatever it was, it was constantly firing and draining the battery, and even I know a drained battery does not a motorcycle ride make. Basically, the problem was something that plenty of people could do on their own. We took it to the shop and paid 5 times too much to have it diagnosed and fixed. Aside: The Professor minus the Harley for 4 days = one very sad husband. So…about a week after the Dishwasher Fiasco was finally over and done with (did I just jinx myself? It will probably devolve into a nuclear weapon in about 20 minutes), I got a phone call from The Professor. It was about 4 PM and I was still at work. I could practically hear the soundtrack of doom playing when the phone rang. He wanted to let me know that it was 84 degrees in the house. And seeing as how the thermostat was set to 78 degrees… Can I even tell you how hard and fast my stomach sank? I know even less about air conditioners than I know about Harleys and dishwashers, but what I do know is this: THEY ARE EXPENSIVE AND SCARY. Mostly scary with a scattering of expensive. Because when it comes to expensive, a smattering is more than enough. So he called up Friend J. And Y’all, when The Prof told me he had called good ole reliable Friend J, I assumed we would just have to start paying that man for allowing me to call him our Friend. I don’t think all the home cooked meals and bottles of liquor are going to cut it for much longer. And dude’s a vegan so I can’t even bake him cookies. Anyway, unbeknownst to us, Friend J’s brother in law is in the A/C business. As in “has his own A/C business with a logo’d truck and an assistant and everything”. So the next evening, A/C Dude & A/C Dude’s Assistant come over and do a few things to the outside unit and then head up into the attic to check out whatever’s up there. All I know is that’s where we go to change the filter, and really we don’t do that as often as we should, because Holy Mary have you BEEN in an attic in July in Alabama? No? Do you know why you haven’t? Because you’re not SUICIDAL. Anyway, Dude’s Assistant comes back down with a piece of paper and says “Here’s your problem” before showing it to me. So I look down and there is a tiny little fried baby mouse on that piece of paper that he had found inside the unit in the attic. A mouse electrocuted himself by chewing on the wiring in my air conditioner. You want to know why? Because he was suicidal from being in an attic in Alabama in July.

The Dishwasher Fiasco, Part II

So, last I left you in this marvelous tale, I was getting a new dishwasher and we all thought the drama was over. You know I didn’t make the process of getting a new dishwasher easy on anyone, right? My first bright idea was to go up the Habitat for Humanity Restore and check out what they had. A friend of mine in Nashville had great luck getting one last year, so I told The Professor we’d head that way. Of course it’s almost an hour away. And when we arrived…the look on The Professor’s face was priceless. “Honey,” says he, says my love, “I’m glad I got a lunch date out of this, because we are not buying anything here”. Well, I got a little huffy and made him at least walk over to the appliances, at which point he said “I’ll wait in the truck”. OK, fine, we go to my second choice. Mazers, which sells scratch/dent/show-room models. It’s where he bought his washer, dryer and refrigerator 7 years ago. And our fridge keeps the beer cold, which is all I need. So, we set off for discount appliance land. An hour later – and after more incompetence & disorder in a sales department than I ever want to see again – oh yes, Mazers, you broke my heart and I’m calling you out BY NAME – I had a dishwasher. It was so disorganized, I almost went up to the loading dock and asked them if they had changed their mind and wanted to keep my little GE for themselves. The next day, trusty old Friend J comes over to install it for us. And things…well, things did not go so well. First off, I headed to the gym, leaving the Professor in charge of handing over tools and stuff. I was done with dishwashers for the day. I figured if I paid for it, The Prof could watch over the installation. So, problem #1: There was no “junction box”, which Friend J assured us was necessary although who knows why. Luckily, we still had the old broken machine – sitting in our kitchen, because we’re classy like that – so he just reached over and took it off and put it on the new sucker. There was also a trip to Lowes involved – although I have no idea what for – because some other $2 part wasn’t included. But finally – finally! – the thing was put together, pushed in and hooked up. At which point it refused to take in water from our pipes. This dishwasher was not out to make friends with ANYONE. The reason was long and detailed, and involved a switch of some kind that Friend J discovered was broken. I understood exactly one word: broken. Guess who spent an afternoon taking the dishwasher back? Our second trip to Mazers took twice as long and – as incomprehensible as it seems – was even more disorganized than the first. First these people who hadn’t wanted to get rid of such a prime piece of kitchen equipment now couldn’t figure out the process to take it back. By this point, The Professor had had it with me and my money saving ways. And when I say he’d “had it”, I mean “almost didn’t allow me to have any input on where we went next” and no amount of kissing and sweet talk was going to get me in this conversation. That’s when I pointed out that I had the credit card. So we ended up at Lowes’, chose a model and had it delivered. Installation was not free – it cost $100+ - they said because they had to get a licensed electrician to install it, and they don’t keep those on staff. I guess that’s true? Doesn’t matter, because Friend J – unbelievably – had promised to help install the new one when it came. So, 2 days later, the boys are back on the kitchen floor and discover that – Surprise! – there was a different part not included with this model. Off The Professor went to the hardware store, instruction manual in hand to ensure he purchased the right thing... Where he was promptly told that the instruction manual was wrong and sold a different part. When he got home Friend J laughed, sighed, and said “let’s go”, taking them to a different hardware store to get the correct part. Back they came, full of confidence that they would get this thing DONE and finally eat dinner. I was given 2 jobs: Cook said dinner, and turn off the circuit at the breaker box. I can handle that! It was only after I ELECTROCUTED Friend J while he was helping with my THIRD dishwasher in 2 weeks that I realized I had flipped the circuit without really looking – and it had never been flipped back on after the last fiasco. It all worked out in the end, leaving 3 important facts: Dinner was damn good, the dishwasher washed the dishes, and Friend J is still a friend. But…I’m thinking that from now on, The Professor and I should just leave the country when we need something repaired or replaced.

“Wishes Won't Wash Dishes"

It took me five years, 4 book cases, 2 entertainment centers, 1 motorcycle gas tank, 2 flat tires and 1 gas grill to learn it, but I eventually got the message: The Professor and I should not work together on any kind of home improvement/maintenance/upgrade project. The problem is that neither one of us has much skill in fixing/replacing/assembling. I want to study a picture, look at what I’m working on and move slowly, scared that screwing in the wrong bolt will cause my home to spontaneously combust. H e wants to get the entire horrid process over as quickly as possible, so he just starts assembling and/or disassembling – sometimes simultaneously – at will*. And we never seem to find a way to meld these…styles…without a lot of cussing. * I will note at this point that this “ignore the directions and screw everything together” philosophy could be the reason we had to completely take the grill apart half way through assembly so that we could start over. But I won’t. All of this is to say that when I got back from a quick 4 day trip to Florida and found my dishwasher was full of water that had failed to drain – 4 days ago – I was kinda glad The Professor was going to be out of town for a week. If he had been home, he would have been yanking things apart before I could even get to Google to ask its opinion on fixing dishwashers. I did call him and ask if he knew where the owner’s manual could be found, since he moved into the house a year before I did. He laughed at me and said “How the hell do I know? Anyway, we’ll just buy a new dishwasher”. I asked him how the hell he went from “clogged drain” to “replace the whole damn thing!” in 1.2 seconds, because I was determined to fix it. I am woman, here me roar! Surely I could just take off the drain cover, pull out whatever was clogging it, and move on to my wine and my evening. But first? I had to empty the water. Did I mention that there was so much water that when I opened the door, some of it ran onto the floor? And I figured that since it was going to require a lot of bending over and standing back up, I should probably wait to open the bottle of red my sister had sent home with me. Suddenly, just replacing the dishwasher sounded like a good idea. It sounded even better when I got the drain cover off and discovered the things growing in the Deep Dark Places of my Dishwasher. Needless to say, my little “pull off the drain cover and fix it in five minutes” plan did not work. It took me 45 minutes to get the water out. And then I had to figure out how the hell the drain cover came off, because those suckers needed something more complex than a Phillips head screwdriver, damn them. So it took me ten minutes of looking at my tool kit to figure out which unknown Thingy-With-A-Handle would remove those Weird Thingies holding the drain cover down. I was informed later (not by The Professor) that those are bolt screws. Whatever –I felt like a freaking goddess when I finally got them off. Do I even need to tell you that I could not, in fact, clear the problem? It was clearly time for me, Google, and the Wine to have a nice ménage a trios while we figured things out together. By the end of the evening, I convinced myself that I was NOT going to get into any kind of plumbing situation; that I was done, finished, we’d call a repair guy so I could drink my wine in peace without worrying that I’d accidentally jack up all my kitchen plumbing. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of telling that to a friend at work the next day, who has a very big “don’t ever call a professional without spending entirely too much time trying to fix it yourself” mentality. And he convinced me to get into the plumbing. My Friday night was shaping up to be a real treat. Ok, fine, I could do this. It’s just unhooking one little hose from one big pipe. How hard could this be? And he promised to be online to walk me through it when the panic attack hit. So I cleaned out under the kitchen sink, got a big bowl to catch water, and went to it, if by "went to it" you mean "stare at the pipes for 30 minutes before realizing that I actually had to touch the pipe if I wanted to get anything productive done". 30 minutes later – full of furious IM’ing and handholding – I had some things taken a apart, a little more water drained – and nothing fixed. "Don’t worry", Friend typed. "On Monday I’ll bring you something to slide in the hose and loosen up whatever’s stuck." So I ignored the dishwasher for the weekend, which was easy because I pretty much ingore the dishwasher all the time anyway. Guess what? The snake-claw-grabber thing didn’t work either. By now, The Professor was home from his trip and I was finished, done, over it. I turned it over to him and said “I’m NOT pulling this monster out of the cabinets. Call someone, I’m through”. And then I grabbed the rum and the pina colada mix and went outside and pretended I was back in Florida, with the delusion that I had functional kitchen appliances. So, The Professor calls Friend J, who lives down the street. Friend J is a handy guy to have around, if you happen to be as clueless with tools as The Professor and I happen to be. (True Story: Friend J had to use a hammer at our house once and when I handed it to him he laughed and called it a “Baby Hammer”). Friend J comes over the next morning (yesterday) and starts taking things apart –in the correct order, no less. And after much handyman-work-that-I-am-in-awe-of, he figured out the problem. A teeny tiny screw had come loose from the teeny tiny blade that chops up any food that gets past the drain cover. And he found it in the motor. Where it had done Considerable Damage. Guess who’s getting a new dishwasher? PS – they also found the owner’s manual! When they pulled the dishwasher out of the cabinet, they discovered that the people that installed it had left the manual taped to the top of the dishwasher. Brilliance!

The cats are going to either get me killed or The Professor arrested

Sunday, in the early evening, all was quiet. The kitchen was (mostly) cleaned up from a big Family Lunch and I had spent a lovely hour communing with my laptop at the dining room table. The Professor went out for his evening stroll around the neighborhood (I think he’s part of a secret neighborhood surveillance, but then he thinks I secretly work for the FBI, so maybe we should both tone down the conspiracy voices in our respective heads?), and I decided it was the perfect time for a glass of wine. Granted, there aren’t many times that aren’t the perfect time for a glass of wine, and those are mostly restricted to the hours immediately after you wake up in the morning*, which is why God made Mimosas. *If you wake up after noon, you can skip those mimosa drinking hours, because it’s lunch time, and wine is perfectly acceptable at lunch. I should really write a rule book or something. I also decided it was the perfect time to sit outside, which necessitated moving the laptop. Which is when my cat made his move. It was the only move he made that hour, and I guess he decided to make it worth his while. I removed the power cord from the back of the laptop, stood up with my Precious Darling (the laptop, not the cat) in my hands and turned around to head towards the back door, only to discover that in the 5 seconds I had not been moving, my dear cat had chosen to move from his perch to sprawl on the floor behind my feet. Unfortunately, I only noticed after my foot was coming down on top of him, and then I tried to move my foot, but it was too late, and I ended up falling – with the laptop still in my arms, mind you – towards one of the chairs. I did not manage to stop my fall, but I did manage to slam my arm into the back of the chair, and somehow twisted enough that my thigh smacked into the side, all while clinging on to my laptop for dear life with my other hand. We had just bought the Stepson a new laptop the day before. A new one for me is NOT in the budget. This dance was short and it was not graceful, but it probably would have made a hell of a YouTube video. Aside: MS Word recognizes “YouTube” as a word. The laptop made it through our Dance of Life just fine. I, however, am sporting a bruise 2 inches long by 1.5 inches wide on my arm (yes, I measured just for you so that you could have an accurate description). There’s a similar one on my thigh, but it’s covered by clothing. And they’re getting prettier by the day. I didn’t know some of these shades of blue existed, and I can hardly wait to discover the new yellows that will surely appear. I actually thought about documenting them in pictures, day by day, but that would be like a job or something, and I can barely remember that I have a blog as it is. Maybe I’ll just name them. TweedleDum and TweedleDee sound like good candidates. Another Aside: Please note that TweedleDum and TweedleDee are NOT recognized by Word, even though they’ve been around for more than 100 years longer. Anyway, this is not – by a long shot – the first time I’ve come to work with bruises. I am one of the clumsiest people I know, and I bruise very easily. If you stare at me hard enough, my blood vessels burst. And apparently Some People are starting to notice. Today, when I gave my “I’m-the-clumsiest-person-in-the-world-and-bruise-easily” excuse to someone who asked, I got a new response. A pause, a deep look and “Are you sure?”. So now I have to somehow become more graceful, because I do not want people thinking vile things of The Professor, who would no more harm me than he would voluntarily eat a vegetable that is not deep fried. Am I too old for finishing school? I hope so, because I have a feeling that they would try to take away my rum.

I've either lost it or found it, I don't know which

The gym is not the place I prefer to be on a Saturday morning, but I've learned that if I don't go first thing, it doesn't get done. Because I will turn on HGTV for "just one show" and then 6 hours later I'm cooking dinner and drinking wine. Yes, I do that at 4 PM on a Saturday. DON'T JUDGE ME. Anyway, so the gym is made marginally better because of the TVs in front of the treadmills that can keep my mind busy while I sweat through a 5k. Is it ironic that "Don't Sweat It" is usually the show I sweat to? Because by the time I'm done, I'm pretty much just a big pile of sweat. Lovely visual, I know. The end of my boring little routine involved doing the Arm Machines. I hate them slightly more than I hate the leg machines, although I do kind of feel all "Look at ME" when I notice sore muscles a few hours later. It's proof that I'm doing something. ANYway - I have really rambled off topic, again - this Serious Weight Lifting Guy came in about halfway through my Arm Torture . He's probably a personal trainer or something, because he was charting his weight routine. Every time he did something, he wrote it down. And he kept staring at me. I HATE it when strangers stare. I'm always convinced I've got spinach hanging out of my nose or something. In this case, I figured I was abusing the machines, and he was going to march over and give me a lecture on how to properly change the weights. He did say "Bless you" when I sneezed, so his Mama taught him some manners but I was just sure that meant he'd be nice when he told me I was doing stuff all wrong. Hello, I know I'm doing something wrong: I'm sweating on a Saturday, for the love of baby Jesus. So I finish up and go to leave and he walks by and asks how long I've been a member of the gym. And how often I work out. And what's my name again? And some other little trivia that I've completely forgotten. And me - the whole time I'm thinking "Gotta go to J's to get those border stones. Going to the garden store with the Best Friend. Think I'll grill out burgers tonight. Should pick up some beer." And when I get in my car, it slams into my dreams of Dos Equis: Dude was hitting on me. Trying to flirt, fairly blatantly, while I was a steaming pile of sweat - and all I can think of is what kind of meat and alcohol to consume later. The Professor has officially declared me an "Old Married Lady". And promised me a beer.

A Short Rant with an Easter Finish

Google, you have disappointed me. For months now, when I pull up Google Maps and you think you’re showing me where I live…you aren’t. Oh sure, the address is right. But you’re little pointer is pointing halfway down the street and on the other side of a cul-de-sac. And in Satellite View? Your street labels are off in my little corner of the world. Downtown in the big city is perfect. Looking at the maps of my county? Crazy. And don’t judge me for spending time looking at maps of my county in Google Maps Satellite View. It’s cheap entertainment. It’s been years since I’ve done anything “Easter-y” on Easter Sunday. I haven’t bought Easter candy in years, and although I usually do make an effort to cook something Nicer Than Usual, it’s such a “get together with the family” day that The Professor and I kind of just stay home and watch movies. Of course, I’m usually watching Easter Parade, and he’s watching something that involves a lot of blood and dismemberment, so we’re watching movies in separate rooms. But we’re doing it in separate rooms TOGETHER. Anyway, all of this is to say that this year, we have Easter Plans! Some friends who are similarly far from their families invited us over for a big ole Easter Dinner. I’ve got the perfect cute Spring-Time skirt and if I’m feeling plucky I might even pull my old Easter Bonnet out of storage, which will cause me to sing “In my Easter Bonnet…with all the frills upon it…” all day, which will in turn drive The Professor nuts. Meaning that this would be the only year we participate in any kind of Easter Festivities, but it will totally be worth it.

Another year, another AWSOFTC(SFBIGTNABO)

Go here for 2008. Go here for 2009. So, snow is becoming an annual occurrence round these parts. I can live with that. Especially since it FINALLY happened on a work day, and work got cancelled*. Especially since Monday is already a federal holiday, making this a 4 day weekend. Especially especially since I stocked the wine rack and the beer fridge. Well, the wine rack is already showing some holes because we started on that last night. But that's OK. I have some rum and whiskey left. But enough about my alcohol collection! You want to see snow! Let's see how fierce and mighty this new Alabama Winter Storm of the Century is going to be. *Dear Firefox: "Cancelled" CAN be spelled with two 'l's, not just one as you think. Please update your dictionary, and thank you for making me doubt my spelling abilities, forcing me to look it up in 3 different places to be sure I was correct, even if I been using the British spelling forever and never knew it. Now I'll have to randomly insert 'u's after 'o's, too. Love, Me.

The Professor

The Professor is the faculty advisor for a fraternity. Meaning: He goes to weekly meetings, yells at them when they make bad grades, and takes me to fraternity parties. Really: What 32 year old is still going to frat parties? At the meeting tonight, they passed around a piece of paper labeled: "I love The Professor because..." A couple of my favorite answers: " He has an epic mustache." "I can see my reflection in his head." There was more, but those are my 2 favorite. For the record: I, too, love his mustache and his shiny head.

The Post That Has Been Demanded By Many*

*Where "Many" = "More Than One" So, awhile ago, I commenced on "Operation Make The Professor's Head Explode With Fervent Re-Decorating", as a result of an overload of HGTV Watching. While The Professor's head is still very much intact, I'm claiming victory because dear Flying Spaghetti Monster am I in love with my living/dining room now. Since only a select few - The Chosen, if you will - have had the glory of seeing my* creation, we'll take a little tour of my new living space.

 *it wasn't really all mine, I needed The Bestest Friend's help and reassurance every step of the way, because I was convinced I was going to create a room that no one but me wanted to step foot in. She assures me that she still enjoys putting a step in. Maybe even two.

 I wish I had before shots, but I don't. I completely re-arranged the furniture and painted the walls. The Professor ripped up the carpet, and we had laminate put down. Then I - with the BFFs help - commenced the decorating. I found some amazing deals, and...well, let's just look at pictures, hmm? Let's go ahead and acknowledge that I need to learn to compensate for all the sunshine coming through the windows. Looking at the front door: I love those blue curtains. They make my heart sing every time I see them. Side view of that corner, just because I love the way that little print looks over there. In case you couldn't guess, that's the fireplace. And just because I love it so much, that's the painting above the fireplace, with a close up of the ceiling fan pull just for kicks. The long wall that has the TV station. It looks amazingly blank here, but much better in real life. You'll just have to trust me. (For Those of you who are The Chosen: That's the wall the couch was on before.) Looking from the front door towards the dining room & kitchen. Funny side story: When The Professor saw the blue pillow he asked why I chose to decorate our living room like a bordello. He actually used the word "bordello". I think he is the first person to do that this century. That's across from the dining room table, our little "office area", where no office-type work is ever done. Only many, many games of Mah-Jong. And finally, looking from the kitchen through both rooms. I'm not technically sure if you can even call it two rooms, but I do, so you will too. I'm wondering if I should finish the kitchen. I painted one wall blue a year and a half ago, and now I Want to paint the rest of it a lighter shade. But...that would require crawling all over the cabinets, which would be drastically against my lazy lifestyle. I may have to over-indulge on HGTV again to find the motivation. Maybe in 3 or 4 years, I'll get around to that.

Medical Update, which may be a bit of Too Much Information

1) In the midst of last weekend's Family Festivities, my sister noticed the mole on the back of my shoulder and commented on the shape and color of it. The Professor, never one to take a Medical Emergency lightly, promptly made an appointment with the dermatologist. Assuming that if *I* have a problem, then he should get to be checked out as well: he made back-to-back appointments and he promptly scheduled an hour of dermatological examinations. Isn't it sweet that we do these things together? 2) I spent some time in the squash patch a couple of days ago, weeding and seeing to the General Order of Things. Somewhere in The Proceedings, a Biting Bug made its way down my backside. When it started biting, I started hopping. I'm sure the neighbors got a pleasant view of me with my hand down my pants, frantically swiping at The Nuisance. The result: My behind looks like I sat on a patch of stinging nettles. Thank god for cortisone cream, because sitting is now very...itchy.

A Little Help From My Friends

The Bestest Friend has forcibly reminded me that I have been a lazy blogess, and she's going to faint when she reads this, but ... she's right. Did you hear that?? YOU'RE RIGHT. So. We are so close to having everything done in my living room. I love just sitting in there now, it's so bright and cheery. So here are 2 of our projects of which I am most proud. 1) The table lamp. The Best Friend is wicked scary with a bottle of spray paint. Nothing is sacred. Sometimes, I even fear for her dogs. But when I needed a lamp painted, I was glad of this talent. The lamp was just boring black. Before: After an hour in her custody: The next project was a little more labor intensive. The chair was in bad shape. But nothing defeats us! Before: Ignore the bedding in the background, it was emptied out of the spare room so the ceiling could be fixed. And that's a cat toy under the chair, in case you're wondering why I just leave blue fuzzy thing laying on my floor. After: The fabric was a steal. It cost $17 a yard. But I found a 2 yard piece in the clearance bin for $6. So now I have a bunch more of this fabric to find something to do with. Maybe a pillow? There's no stopping us now!

Summertime...And The Living Is Easy

Do you know what one of the worst parts of June is? This*: June Bugs. God, how I hate them. I have an infestation this year that makes me afraid to step foot outside after 8 PM, lest I be dive-bombed from all directions by the Minions of Satan. They seem to have an especial affinity for my hair and the window screens - anything that they can cling to with their tiny gripping legs, leaving me convinced I will be forced to live through that horrible scene in Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan in which horrible disgusting bugs crawl down ears**. I hope you sleep well tonight. Have I mentioned I am not a fan? That must mean it's time for a Summer Adventure! The Professor, the Beloved StepSon and I leave tomorrow for a Great NorthWestern Escape. We're heading to Portland for a week to visit family. And visit wineries. And to drink from my sister-in-law's wine cellar. And visit breweries. And to ... have I mentioned the wine? My biggest Sadness - not really a huge thing, all things considered - is that this Great State Of Mine tells me that it's illegal to ship wine to my house, limiting me to what I can get home in my suitcase. Somehow, I will persevere, and simply enjoy all the wine I can whilst I'm gone. I could ship it to my sister's, in the hope that it will still be there for our August road trip, but then I'd have to trust that she won't drink it all before I get there. Considering it's summer, and her kids are home for the summer, those may be some steep odds. The living room is mostly put back together, which makes it much more fun to be in the living room. The concrete floor - while functional, in that it holds up the house - wasn't exactly the warm and inviting place I'd like my home to portray. So, I'm off to a land of evening temperatures below 80, verdant with grape vines. Hopefully also lacking in Scary Bugs With Gripping Legs. So tell me. Do you have Scary Bugs? And where are you going this month? *Photo courtesy of donjd2. **Yes, those were more slug-like than beetle-like, but it's my nightmare and I'll revisit it as I see fit.

Concrete isn't the most comfy seating in the world

The living room remodel is in full swing now. And now that we've moved past painting to demolition, The Professor's head has ceased it spontaneous combusting, which is really a win-win for all involved. Very messy stuff, those exploding brains. This is what he did today:

In case you can't tell, the carpet's gone and that's our concrete slab he's sitting on.

Yes, the TV is still in the living room for our enjoyment (seen on the far left, there), although *I'm* certainly not trying to enjoy it. Today he spent 5 hours ripping up the carpet, padding and the bits of nail-infused wood holding it all down. He's never quite as happy as when he's destroying something. Mr Floor Dude doesn't actually come out til next Monday to lay the new floor, but since The Professor is gone on his annual trip as of Wednesday night, I get the glory of living in the bedroom for a week. My ass - apparently - isn't as hardened as The Professor's.

I'm fine today, thanks

This is what I have looking at me: In a matter of a few hours it will turn into a double batch of couscous tabbouleh, a pile o' guacamole, and a big heapling pile of coconut curry veggies. Then it's just a matter of cooking some basmati rice, grilling up the chicken and cracking open a beer or 4. Although one of the guests of honor is pregnant, so if she's the only one not drinking, I'll switch that beer to Sprite Zero. And if The Professor happens to splash some bourbon in it while I'm not looking, well...I'll just have to drink it. Thriftiness, you know. Also? Look at what The Bestest Friend and I found for over my fire place: The living room is freaking incredible. A new floor and a day spent hanging things on the walls and I'll be good. The Professor may need therapy, but what else is new?

The Very Merry Month of May

I can say unequivocally that there has been almost no strolling through the park this month. I'm not sure what stars aligned to make this month insane, but it's been quite fun. If exhausting. First, the parents came and spent some quality time in Alabama. Believe it or not, "quality time" and "Alabama" *can* exist in the same sentence with no irony present. It was fun. As usual, we ate too much. And laughed almost enough. And The Professor discovered a grocery store that carries 8 separate varieties of Sam Adams beer (which is unusual for Alabama). Four days after they left, it was time for The Professor's Half Century Party. It was a few weeks early, but those pesky Academic types...they don't stick around much past graduation day. So we had the party *on* graduation day, to make sure they didn't have much of an excuse to skip out on our backyard. 1 backyard + 20 people = I don't know how many hot dogs and Bratwurst we went through (oh! Surprise of the year: I like Bratwurst now!), but somehow we ended up with more beer than we started with. I didn't question that, especially since I had more fun already planned. Five days after the party, it was time to head to Atlanta for a conference. Yes! Another library conference! You had no idea life could get this much fun. Even better - hold onto your knickers - my favorite session was by a librarian that had Improved Work Flows Between Acquisition And Cataloging (Not the actual title) that got me all fired up about how I could, um...improve workflows. No, I was not drunk. Even better, my rental car got triple upgraded again to a Pontiac G6 GT - seen here - and it was quite a sweet upgrade. The very night I got home, indeed, within hours, The Bestest Friend arrived and The Original Redhead drove in from A Little Ways Up North to help me empty, tape up, paint and re-arrange the living room. We completed it all in less than 24 hours, at which time we made a major dent in the Beer Collection. Here are the remnants after 2 weekends of partying: I told you there was a ton of beer left after that first party! People brought their own, drank our Coronas and then left their offerings. I should party more often. Anyway, we accomplished this before we imbibed much beer: It looks about 3 times as yellow as it actually is because of my flash, but I've never professed to be a good photographer. Somehow, even my white fan looks yellow in that picture. The room's still a work in progress, so...Moving on. Sidenote that will screw up the timeline of this post: A little later in the week, The Professor was overseeing the Satellite Guy installing a new outlet. Whilst up in the attic, he must have gotten bored, because when I got home, this is what I found in the spare bedroom: He stepped through the ceiling, but didn't get hurt so let's not dwell on this part. Last Sunday, after the friends departed, we took the Beloved Stepson out for his 18th birthday (*gulp*). And let's not get into that scariness, because... This weekend has been taken up with his graduation. From High School. As in, he's now 18 and going to college and has a pocketful of gift money and a huge party on a lake tonight with all his friends and his girlfriend and Oh. My. God. He looks so grown up. Fly little bird, fly. Well, if "little bird" means "one who is now 5 inches taller than I am". And it does. So I have a few days to rest, and then it's time for another party to welcome a new faculty member to The Professor's department. We've cut the number down to 10 this time, and the damn rain needs to just give me a few hours on Friday evening of niceness, since my house can't hold 10. Tonight? Tonight The Professor and I bought a nice bottle of wine. I think we're mostly celebrating. But there might also be a little of "Hey, let's look at our wedding album so we can say for the 8,123th time how much The Beloved StepSon has grown, and oh hey! Remember when he wanted to go on a day trip to Prague?"

And Now, Happier Things (AWSOFTC(SFBIGTNABO), Part II)

Sidenote: If you sent The Professor and me a very beautiful rose, please let me know! It wasn't signed! A little over 13 months ago, we had what some wonderfully witty person titled the "Alabama Winter Storm Of The Century (So Far, Because I'm Going To Need A Better One)". That person has had her (*ahem*) wish fulfilled. Friday, appropriately, was a Very Stormy Day. We were under tornado watches, severe thunderstorm watches, TORNADO WARNINGS, flash flood warnings - you get the picture - all day. And night. The arriving Original Redhead from Tennessee complained around 8 PM that no one told her to bring an arc. And then, Sunday morning we woke up to snow. We took a drive down to The Professor's University for lunch, and it was still coming down. The University is always pretty; in the snow, it's beautiful. I loved this tree: These were pretty too: In the hour we were there, though, the sun came out; by the time we left, it was starting to melt. Still, there was plenty on the ground when we got home to try and whack The Professor in the butt with a snowball. I missed. But I was distracted by my target.

The benefit to still having acne at age 30:

When you walk in the door to your house with your arms full, and a cat-who-shall-remain-nameless (LUCIUS, I WILL NEVER LET YOU GO, STOP TRYING!) makes an escape attempt through your legs, causing you to land flat on your face on the carpet at 80 mph, causing, in turn, a large rug burn right under your nose and a smaller one on your chin that actually get bloodier and more painful 36 hours after they happened ……People will assume it’s just another massive zit gone bad. Or that your husband belted you one. I guess it speaks well of The Professor that everyone assumes I’ve had a facial eruption. PS: Said not-so-unnamed cat stopped an inch outside of the door, sat down and looked at me. When I stood up, he made a beeline back in the house and went to his food bowl. I will never understand why he needs to go out so badly, when every time he makes it free from my tyranny, he immediately heads back inside. Life's about the journey, Deborah, not the destination... PPS: My arms were not full of my laptop at the time, so the only thing you need to worry about is my face, if you feel so inclined.

Communication. It's the Key.

The Professor, looking at the calendar: So in the last 6 weeks of the year, I have your birthday, our anniversary and Christmas. Me: Yep. It's a good time of year to be me. TP: So what do you want me to buy you? Me: Surprise me! I love surprises! TP: Okkkaayyy....{thinks for another minute}. What should I surprise you with?