Wednesday, December 28, 2011

like a horror movie, only bettah

Oh, hai. I know nobody's reading--a good portion of all y'all are on vacation this week, unlike your hard-working (ha!) blog hostess I might add, or otherwise occupied with your "lives" n' shit--but I will nevertheless babble on. It's what I do. Consistency and all.

So today I decided to move out my refrigerator and clean behind it while I was also cleaning the hell out of the rest of the kitchen. The reason for that we'll get to later<--foreshadowing, bitches. Now lemme say this. You all know I am seriously domestically challenged in some matters. There are huge holes in my knowledge base when it comes to these things and also a certain disinterest. I tend to clean what I can see is dirty when I notice it's dirty (which sometimes is promptly and sometimes is well after a naturally housekeeping-alert person would notice same) and clean everything else when the planets align correctly. Or never. Whichever comes first. Which is all leading up to the fact--which you can probably guess, 'cause my readers are an intelligent bunch--that I haven't moved the refrigerator all the way out in, well, a number of years that would probably embarrass the average person to admit. I, on the other hand, have no shame. But also? In my defense, I didn't realize that refrigerator pulled out so easily. <--more foreshadowing, yo.

I wish I had taken pictures. There was in places about half an inch of...gunk...stuck to the floor. Also, dust bunnies so big that one of them actually clogged the hose in my dyson. I had to take it apart to clear it out. It takes one hell of a killer dust bunny to disable an expensive vacuum cleaner. You have to admit that's impressive. I turned three buckets of water/Mrs Meyers pitch black before I got all the gunk off the floor. That's also pretty impressive. If I do say so myself.

It occurs to me that "normal" people probably pull out their refrigerator and clean behind and under it like twice a year or something. (The first person who tells me no, they do that every month, is getting a punch in the head.) I dunno. Where's the satisfaction in that? When you do it every ::mumble:: years, it's a fun big project that leaves you feeling like you've really accomplished something, *and* gives you amusing anecdotes. When you do it twice a year, it's just another tedious chore.

After I did that, I washed my walls and my cabinets. Remember the last time I decided to completely degrease everything in my kitchen? That lead to a trip to the ED and then three months of freaking out I was going blind from eye fungus. Fun times! I did not spray anything above my head and look up at it today. Who says I never learn from experience? Also, washing my cabinet doors only took like an hour or two as opposed to two days like it did then. See, you do *that* every two years and you get no good stories out of it. Sigh. I have to say, however, that with the new hardware I put on the cabinets then and keeping them clean and without a build-up of dulling crud on them, I have decided I actually kind of like them, unfashionable as they may be. Which is just as well, because they aren't getting torn out anytime soon.

Now here's where we go back to why I tried to move the refrigerator and I ask you for an opinion. Which is a waste of fucking typing because a.) y'all aren't reading and b.) any time I ask for opinions or advise, no one can even be arsed to give me some anyway. (I swear, it's okay to tender advice. I won't hold you to it. If I don't like it, I won't take it. NO PRESSURE.)

As mentioned previously, I've been looking at lighting. Looking at lighting for the hallway has me also looking at lighting for the kitchen. And thinking about other things for the kitchen. I've been reading design/decorating forums again. Someone on one of these forums where people have fancy shmancy kitchens, many of which are the size of some people's friggin apartments, said she had moved into a new house with a kitchen that still had cabinets from the 50s but had vinyl flooring that had been put in within the last ten years. And to her surprise, she found she kinda loved it. Not the looks of that particular vinyl, but the fact that it was soft and warm and very easy to care for and didn't shatter whatever you dropped on it. She started asking about alternative flooring to the standard fancy shmancy hardwood or tile in kitchens. (You may or may not remember, but two years ago when I was last thinking about this *I* told y'all I didn't want tile or hardwood in the kitchen, no matter that I was supposed to.) People told this lady about trendy shit like cork and marmoleum, but a surprising number of them said, hell, yeah, luxury vinyl tile! It's come a long way and you shouldn't discount it. Then they showed pictures of their fancy shmancy houses with vinyl flooring in their kitchens or baths or laundry rooms or mudrooms.

Which eventually led to to looking at this on the Home Depot website.

At least in the picture, it is very close to the wood color of my cabinets, my baseboards and my hardwood in the other rooms. It is also dirt cheap. I think I figured it out and it would cost me like $300 for a new floor. And all the reviews say it's ridiculously easy to install and looks good. (Except for the one disgruntled customer. There's always one disgruntled customer. Who types in all caps.) So I was thinking about it. It's floating. You put it down on top of the floor you got. That's why I experimentally tried moving the refrigerator, because I thought that might be a bitch. It wasn't. I don't even think I'd have to move the stove. The vinyl that's in there now doesn't go all the way to the wall beneath it.

So my question is, do you think I could attempt this? I was thinking I could maybe bribe a couple of my friends who also know nothing about installing floors to help me with it in exchange for food. Just for, y'know, moral support. (Mr Indemnity, if I could convince him to help, is at least good at measuring shite. I helped him put up new curtain rods a few months ago and he was very precise with that measuring tape. Ell oh ell.)

Okay. I'ma go wash my kitchen floor, because the rest of that hasn't been done yet.

xoxo

Monday, December 26, 2011

in which i probably get myself in trouble

Again.

So, last night after I had had three...possibly four, I lost track...glasses of vinho verde and my son was napping on the couch with his belleh full of chocolate molten lava cake instead of amusing me with Scrabble, I amused myself. (This is, I may say, one of the most useful parts of being an only child. You learn at a very young age to amuse yourself. Comes in handy.) What'd you do, Andrea? Well, kids, I watched many many different youtube clips purporting to teach me how to change out my own light fixtures. They all agreed that this is an extremely simple procedure that any moron can do in, like, 15 minutes or less. In my semi-drunken state, I agreed that, yes!, it looks moron-proof.

So then I spent tons more time looking at flushmount fixtures online so I can replace the ones in the hallway I just painted. (One of them is fairly non-offensive other than the shiny brass 80s trim on it; the other is the ugliest thing you will have ever seen, unless you also saw the chandelier that used to hang over my dining room table until I had the new pretty one put in a couple years ago--that thing was even more heinous.) I am thinking of replacing both of them with these:



Boob lights. I am really not overly fond of boob lights, but your choices of simple, inexpensive flushmount lights suitable for a hallway are not extensive. Most of them are boob lights. Or they are these:



which are basically the same as the non-offensive one that's already up there, in a different finish. All well and good, but I hate changing the lightbulbs in those things. Hate. Thinking the boob light might be easier.

Anyway, I went to my favorite store today to look at what they have not on the internet in way of lighting and while I was there, I bought something that some, but not all, of the youtube videos told me I should have for this job: a voltage detector. Just in case flipping the breaker didn't really work. Or something. I dunno how that could happen, but better safe than sorry and it only costs $15 and it is a cool tool. Fool n' her money, blah blah fucking blah. I also looked at new toilet seats because my son cracked his, but didn't buy one because when I was standing there in the aisle I could not swear to you what shape the old one is. I was 90% sure it was "elongated" rather than round, but there was the little nagging seed of doubt. Then I wandered down another aisle I usually don't go in and what did I find but new registers for the heat. I want some of those too! But, again, I couldn't tell you by eyeballing what size all the different ones I have are, so I need to whip out my tape measure and return at another time.

Provided I don't electrocute myself first.

Love n' kisses,
Any Moron

xoxo

Saturday, December 24, 2011

merry xmas, adventurers

See title.

Do you know what Santa brought me for Christmas? After it hasn't happened since July, and blood tests that showed my FSH was through the roof, and I gave the Benevolent L almost every tampon and maxipad I had in this house? That's right! My period! Should I be surprised? Probably not!



My theory is that my little mini-diet I went on to shed my bulking fat liberated some of the stored estrogen my chub cells were hanging onto and spat it out into my bloodstream.

What Santa (really my boss E) actually brought me today was a Christmas Eve deep tissue massage. Holy fuck, did I need it. I don't know if I mentioned it but I screwed up my right shoulder doing dips several weeks ago, and since then both my shoulders and my neck have been so tight I've been waking up with faux carpal tunnel syndrome from my brachial plexis being compressed. Fun times! Meanwhile I think I also tweaked my SI joint a little and my hips and low back got really tight too. So basically I was a mess. (I hope someone bought me the foam roller I put on my wishlist! I thought D would, but my Christmas present from him is the wrong size for it to be that.) I didn't realize till I was on the table today that my IT bands were also fucked. I could barely stand for her to touch them. Eek! Think that's contributing to the tight hips, kids? Anyway, my massage was very nice, though I kind of wish I had had enough prezzie money to spring for a 90 minute treatment.

Downtown Salem was surprisingly deserted today. Then I went to TJMaxx and found out where the populace was. Sigh. I decided at the last minute to get D a new hoodie because I realized the auxiliary one he wears when the one he likes is in the wash has a huge rip in the sleeve. And since I won't turn up the heat, it's the least I can do, right? While I was there I bought myself a Bruins hooded t-shirt for the gym from Santa. Then I went to the wine store for...oh, you figure it out. At the cash register, much like candy for children, they had tempting nips. I bought myself a mini Baileys Godiva liquer which I will begin drinking very shortly, as Christmas Eve calls for cocoa, no?

I hope all y'all get everything you wish and hope for...





...without any Grinchiness in your life to spoil it...



...and without your having to pimp yourselves out for prezzies...



And for those of you whose fondest Christmas wish is that I stop posting stoopid cat pictures, here is my present to you:



Feliz Navidad, mis dulces amigos y amigas.

xoxo

Thursday, December 22, 2011

wrapping...

up some odds n' ends. (Oh, a Christmas-related pun. We're all topical up in here, bitches.)

Mr Waldman's minions (one familiar, one new) came yesterday as scheduled and I have a correctly working kitchen faucet, a garbage disposal, and the ability to use both sides of my double sink. I am very sure this is worth the huge check I wrote them, if not least for the fact that my friends will no longer spray themselves in the face accidentally while attempting to use said sink. Plus, my new faucet is pretty. So pretty and retro. Mr Waldman's minions told me it's a good faucet, too, nice and heavy and sturdy. Got the thumbs up. They had to re-pipe because the new garbage disposal didn't connect exactly the way the other one did, even though I bought the exact model they told me to. They didn't charge me for this, on the hush-hush. I promised I would not call their boss and demand to be charged more. Ha!

Plumber #1 and I bonded over the fact that I made them listen to 90s music the whole time they were in my house. (Hey, I was paying them enough that *they* did not get to pick the radio station, you know?) He told me he was going to see Tool at the Gahden and also that he had seen No Doubt and Bush tour in the 90s, which is the tour Gwen and Gavin hooked up during. I told him that was historic. Lulz. This was, by the way, after they already told me they weren't going to charge me for putting in the new pipes, so it wasn't like our embarrassing shared musical tastes were responsible.

In other news, I still have not finished painting the back door. Also, I think I fucked up my dryer when I pulled it out from the wall to paint. Smooth move, Andrea. I need an effin' keeper. Should have ascertained whether Plumber #1 was single. Maybe he needed a date for Tool.

And in other, other news, I have eaten nothing today but cookies. And I am not even ashamed to admit it. I went to Costco yesterday after my plumbing adventures and there were people handing out food samples literally every twenty feet. We tried all of them, pretty much, from the tempting (tiramisu, six kinds of cheese) to the not-so (granola bar chunks, dry cereal), JUST BECAUSE IT WAS THERE. I will be detoxing after New Years', but right now my body is saying, yo! feed me moah! and I am listening.

Okay. Happy December 22, all y'all.

xoxo

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

this is weird

I had on CNN in the background and there was a commercial for... Kazakhstan. The country. In Central Asia. Opining on what a wonderful, modern place it is. It wasn't even suggesting we all pack our suitcases and come visit or anything. It was just saying, yeah, Kazakhstan's cool.

Okay.

I kept waiting for it to be some kind of parody or something, but it wasn't.

Has anyone else seen this? I swear to god, if I ingested any psychoactive drugs this afternoon, it was by accident.

In other news, I came home this afternoon to (besides very odd advertising on CNN) a very warm, comfortable house. Then I realized that was because my son put the thermostat on 68 while I was at work. Oh, we are gonna have a talk about this later. It ain't gonna be 68 in here this winter unless he gets a job to pay my electric bill. Grr.

Finally, did I tell you about my experimental banana bread last week? I can't remember. Anyway, it didn't come out very well, but I'm trying again tonight. After I run to the store, which I should be doing instead of typing to you all. Long, long time readers will remember my historic inability to make zucchini bread, even though I tried for many summers in a row with a plethora of different recipes. Banana bread seems to be going down the same route. But yet I persist. Just like, um, Kazakhstan! Yeah, that's it...Kazakhstan!

xoxo

Saturday, December 17, 2011

this morning's little adventure

My doorknob malfunctioned and I was locked in my bedroom. I was like, huh. I have no tools in here to take the doorknob off. How'm I getting out? (In future I'll have to start sleeping with a screwdriver beneath my pillow.) Luckily my son was awake, heard me rattling the knob, and came up to see if I needed help.*** Then he freed me with a very specialized piece of equipment, by which I mean a quarter. One two three: you can't make this shit up! That would have been the best call-in of all time: "Uh, yeah, I'd love to come to work, but unfortunately I am trapped in my bedroom." Okay, okay, I could have done an Evil Kitty move, popped out my window screen and climbed out onto the garage roof if I really had to. None of the neighbors were probably awake at 5:45 on a Saturday to witness it, so I'd have even probably kept my dignity intact. If I didn't break anything getting off the roof.

Speaking of you can't make this shit up: prison bus convo the other day. Young woman bitching on her cell phone for twenty straight minutes about someone (relative? freeloading friend?) who is living at her house and pissing her off at every turn. "She don't want to work. She wants to sit at home all day, smoking and eating. She's a stripper--she can't afford to get any fatter!" Ell. Oh. Ell. Honey, you just said she doesn't want a job. What does she care if she outgrows her pasties and thong?

xoxo

***People who live alone: learn from my experience and keep tools in your nightstand! Though I guess most people who live alone don't close their bedroom doors at night? I would anyway in the winter, because it maximizes my space heater output. It was like a sauna in there this morning. Cozy! But, yeah, my skin looks like shite.

Friday, December 16, 2011

i am bemused

As of this morning, IT refuses to let me look at my own other blog because of pr0n content. Apparently pictures of me in my underwear WITH ALL MY PARTS COVERED are too hawt for Partners Healthcare. And this is probably going on my permanent record somewhere. I can't even tell you how amused/appalled this makes me. Should I appeal it?!??

I will of course have to write a post on it over there, ranting about how some computer dweebs are sexualizing totally non-sexual pictures that are meant to show my muscular development, muscular development which is a hard-won product of many hours at the gym working my ass off, and which is done for me, not for "the male gaze." Fuckers. I bet I could out-deadlift every one of them.

Um, hi, kids. How are you all? I finally got almost all of my Christmas shopping done. This is what my son asked for: a multi-pack of the fish oils he likes, two pairs of Champion (so not even expensive) basketball shorts, and a $50 amazon gift card. It is a far cry from the days when I would have to hit up every Toys R Us and discount store in eastern Massachusetts, looking for some illusive action figure that everyone was sold out of, lest my kid's Christmas be totally ruined. On the one hand, yeah, a much more pleasant shopping experience. On the other? It's kind of sad to me that he really wants nothing--sad for reasons that are hard for me to explain. But I don't wanna get all holiday-melancholy here, because you know this time of year is hard for me and I've been doing pretty good staving off those feelings. Better just to channel them into rage against those IT bastards.

xoxo

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

people get paid for this writing

I mentioned how recently I've been getting a gazillion emails a day from retailers who wish to sell me their merchandise for the holidays? Well, I am on the email list of Spanx. You know, the "shapewear" (i.e. let's not call a girdle and controltop tights a girdle and controltop tights) people? And in my email box RIGHT NOW I have a missive entitled "It's the Most Wonderful Time for the Rear!"

R U Serious? Someone signed off on that groan-inducer?

I think this is one of those cases in which really bad advertising would actually deter me from buying what is in reality a good product. Especially when they go on to tell me that I should give myself "the ultimate gift of lift". Who the fuck thinks this is clever? I'm just...wow.

xoxo

P.S. I scared myself yesterday listing how behind I was on Christmas, so I went out and bought almost all my son's stocking stuffers. That's something, right?

Monday, December 12, 2011

i'll take "caved" for $400, alex

1.) Okay, Saturday night I turned on the heat. December 10th, baby.

2.) Decided on a paint color for the back door without another fucking $4.00 sample and started painting. It's gonna take four or five coats to cover the poop brown, even with the primer in the paint. But it *has* begun.

3.) I also bought two Christmas presents Friday, which makes a grand total of...3. I better cave on that a little quicker.

4.) Despite having one more week to go on my pre-Christmas diet, I made dinner for the Benevolent L yesterday and ate a shit ton.

5.) And I'm about to cave and call the plumber to come back and install my new faucet and garbage disposal, since, y'know, I got a bonus.

What have you caved on recently?

xoxo

Friday, December 9, 2011

money changes everything

I'm recycling. Apparently it's ecology day here at The Adventures. (If you don't know what I'm talking about, don't worry. It's not you, it's me. Ha!)



Now, onto business. My boss just informed me this morning that with Albert Pujols' new contract, he will be making $63,000 every day for the next ten years. Not every day he plays baseball. Every day that he is breathing. "How could you even spend that much money?" I mused. We agreed it would be difficult, but that we'd like to try. Just for, like, a year. No need to be greedy.

My boss also told me that Albert has a kid with Downs, so he has a Downs charity. We thought that was a good way for him to spend some of his moolah. Also, he should be tipping every cab driver and every waitress he comes into contact with with hundred dollar bills. That's what we would do. E said that he himself would buy a private plane so he could say screw the TSA. I would buy beachfront property, plus a really nice apartment right in town (maybe Man-well's old place?). And a sailboat, that I would then hire someone to sail for me. I don't want to learn how to sail, I just wanna go out onto the ocean in the summer and lie in the sun and swim off the side and drink. Swimming *before* drinking, yo. Safety first! And of course I would give to charity and take care of my friends and loved ones. I'm not a douche.

Ahhh, it's been nice daydreaming with all y'all. But for now Mr Pujols will continue to make more in a day than I do in a year. Sigh. If only I had been born the other gender, maybe my Bulgy Polish Catcher's Thighs would have gotten me somewhere in pro athletics.

xoxo

Tuesday, December 6, 2011

is it...is it...

Why, yes! It is Kitschmas time again!

The (in)famous tree:


Yeah, yeah, the shot's a little crooked. Lean when you look at it.


This year's dining room centerpiece:


You wouldn't believe how many times I emptied that vase out and tried again till I got it how I wanted.

Rope lights up the stairs:



The woodstove:



End table:



Foyer:



And, lastly, tasteful candle in the window:



xoxo

aesthetic notes

1.) Because I do a lot of online shopping, I have been getting a shitload of emails trying to sell me stuff for Christmas. Every morning I delete and/or read about twenty and then more dribble in throughout the day. This is in addition to the giant stack of catalogs my poor postman has to dump into my mailbox just about every day. If these companies are tanking, it ain't due to lack of trying. But, anyway, I got an email from CB2 (which is to Crate and Barrel as West Elm is to Pottery Barn, and why yes, I did kick ass on those analogy questions on the SATs 30+ years ago) this morning, trying to sell me this:



Um, yeah. It's a wooden Connect 4 game, suitable for display. Now, as you know, there is a very long tradition of people having beautiful, elaborate chess sets that are left out as part of their decor. What message does it send to your giftee, or what message would they be conveying if they did leave this out on the ol' coffee table? "Too stupid to actually play chess!" (Which, frankly, I myself am, but I feel no need to broadcast it.) "Think I'm a clever, ironic hipster, but don't have the balls to display an *actual* Connect 4 game!" "People who really could give a shit about me, or might just actively dislike me, nevertheless are forced to buy me holiday gifts!" Did I miss any?

2.)I was walking by a real estate office the other day, and as I always do if I'm not in a rush, I looked at the listings up in their windows. Well. This one had a four bedroom condo in downtown Salem, in which everything like heat and electrical had been totally updated in 2007, listed at $279,900, which I thought was a damn attractive price for 4 bedrooms in a prime, convenient location with a water heater that probably isn't about to burst anyday now. Not that I'm in the position to buy it, but I was curious. So last night I went on mls to see if I could find it. This is it, if you're curious. So, naturally, while looking for it, I got sucked into looking at a bazillion other listings. And my takeaway was this: looking at other people's furnishings? people who apparently are doing the best they can to sell their homes? Most people have absolutely no taste or ability to arrange their possessions in a pleasing manner. Do you know how many condos I looked at that had beautiful hardwoods with absolutely NO area rugs? The furniture is just dropped there without anything to anchor it, and it looks idiotic. Plus there's an epidemic of my pet peeve: beds without headboards. And then there are all the living rooms centered on the gigantic TV without anything else pretty in the room to draw the eye. I guess I get brainwashed by rate my space and apartment therapy and the like into feeling like my house is super inadequate because it needs repairs and updating and I can't afford new furniture, but man, this is a nice counterpoint to reminding me that I at least am trying to make my crappy stuff look as attractive as I can.

3.) Speaking of which, figuring out what color orange to paint that door is killing me. First sample was all wrong. Back to Home Depot and the drawing board later today!

xoxo

Friday, December 2, 2011

things i must tell you, part whatever

Okay, no one's holding a gun to my head or anything. I just want to share. We'll get back to substantive posts sometime soon, but right now I'm not really up to it. Some of you know, I'm on a diet again. Just till the week before Christmas. I've also not been sleeping well in general. Put the lack of proper sleep together with the absence of the 2200 calories a day to which I have become accustomed and you have an Andrea who is dragging ass. I have all these ideas for things I want to write about, here and elsewhere, but when I sit down at the computer I can't summon up the energy to be coherent, never mind entertaining. So, soon. But not now. Now you just get odds n' ends.

1.) Found out yesterday on the hush-hush that the hospital is giving us bonuses this year. Substantial bonuses. (Well, substantial if you get paid what I do. Not substantial for people who have actual well-paying jobs. I'm sure some of you all get bonuses that make the one we're getting look like couch change.) We *never* get bonuses. Usually employee appreciation is like "join us for an ice cream social in the cafeteria!" So this is good. Official announcement is supposed to be on Monday. Money's supposed to be in our checks Thursday. Yay.

2.) My hallway paint looks better after sitting a week. I'm sure you were worried.

3.) I still haven't put my heat on this year and no one's gone down with either frostbite or hypothermia. I do, however, want one of these or similar. I asked D if he wanted one, like for Christmas, and he said no. He sleeps in a hoodie anyway. Sometimes with the hood over his head. Fruit of my womb.

4.) I got email yesterday from a guy who wants to, and I quote, jizz on my bicep. That's...charming. I think I'm going to Northeast Animal Shelter this weekend and start on the cat collection. This whole heterosexual relationship business seems like more trouble than it is worth.

5.) I have pretty much stopped having hot flashes. Also, I have not done anything spectacularly stupid lately. Apparently my hormones are settling down.

6.) I did NOT see that ending of The`Walking Dead coming, but I'm glad that plot line is tied up. Now no more shows till February. WTF?

7.) I have bought exactly one Christmas present and haven't even begun thinking about what to do with decorations this year. Well, I take that back. I'm toying with the idea of putting up the infamous white Xmas tree. Maybe.

Okay, enough's enough. Smooches, bitches.

xoxo

Thursday, December 1, 2011

damn you, internet

I can't find this online yet to share with you, but on CNN they just showed a clip from Conan O'Brien spoofing Herman Cain's latest ad.

Pic of Jimmy Carter. Pic of Jimmy and Roslyn. Voiceover: Jimmy Carter never cheated on his wife, and we had x% unemployment, and 7(?)% inflation. Pic of Bill Clinton, then pics of all his paramours. Voiceover: Bill Clinton cheated on his wife every chance he got, and we had (smaller)x% unemployment, 1% inflation, and a balanced budget. Pic of Herman Cain. Voiceover: Herman Cain. Because when presidents get laid, YOU get paid!

hahahahaha

I died. I am dead. I hope you can see this clip yourselves, and damn you, internet, why is this not on youtube immediately?

xoxo

Remember: when presidents get laid, YOU get paid!

Monday, November 28, 2011

in the news

Leaving aside all other considerations, can we just discuss how abysmally stupid a person would have to be to be looking at illegal porn on his laptop in an extremely cramped public space like an airplane? I mean, is this one of those "cries for help, begging to be caught" kinda things or is this pedophile just that stupid? And I mean, WHY? Are you actually going to wank on an airplane? (Don't answer that. If that's common practice, I don't want to know, and god knows, I never even go anywhere anymore. But, ewwwww.)

I'm just assuming you know what I'm talking about but if not, here you go.

The other interesting point to be made is that since everyone's got camera phones and video now, you should think twice, thrice, and another time for good measure, before you do anything in public you don't want the cops, your boss, your mom, or your significant other to see. There's no plausible deniabilty when some stranger captures you on video. Big Brother may or may not be watching, but your fellow citizens probably are. Which is good when it means criminals and predators are caught, obviously, but perhaps not so good when you have certain parts of your life you'd like to keep compartmentalized from other parts. There's nothing illegal or immoral about, say, dressing up like Dolly Parton on the occasional Saturday night, but you might like to have the neighbors or the guy in the next cube over remain blissfully ignorant of your propensity to do so. Which could be difficult should you inadvertently end up on youtube, nomsayin?

In summary, what color should I paint my damn door?

xoxo

Sunday, November 27, 2011

the door



Okay, I dunno what that wall color looks like on your monitor, but it's supposed to be a medium grayed-down aqua. (I say supposed to be, because I'm not sure it's not looking in reality somehow both brighter and darker than it did on the sample I've been looking at on my walls for two years. We'll see after it cures.) The door is poop brown. Ignore the blue painter's tape. The woodwork is oak (I think.) The carpet's being pulled out. I just bought an orange runner on overstock that's gonna only cover a bit of the hardwood.

My first thought is the door should be shiny black, because I like black and aqua together. It looks klassy. But what light comes through that door is the only natural light that hallway gets, and it ain't much. I'm afraid the darkish color on the walls is already too dark and a black door, even if shiny, would look horrid. The next thought is that the door should be cream or the like to lighten shit up. Except I don't wanna think how many coats of paint it would take to cover that brown. Then I thought...orange? That would be cheerful and Andrea-ish. Too much? Other suggestions?

Help me, blog readers of exquisite good taste and discernment.

Also? More 90s channel listening today has brought to my attention that they play far more Bush and No Doubt than would be correlated to how important either of those bands were. The only explanation that makes sense is that Gwen Stefani owns Sirius/XM and/or DirecTV. Hey, she's rich as fuck. It could happen.

xoxo

seasonal music and decor dilemma

I woke up with this song stuck in my head.



I was lying there in bed, waiting for my arm to become functional again after being lain on for x number of hours, and I thought "I will look that up on youtube when I get up and post the video on my blog, because it's seasonal." You know, because of the line "they have never been poor, they have never had the joy of a welfare Christmas" which is, face it, a genius line. Then my mind wandered and I started thinking about the time Mr Barma and I were in this bar and the teeny little Asian cocktail waitress had a huge tattoo that said SUBLIME and it was impossible to know whether she was a mega-fan of the band or whether she just had really solid self-esteem. Imagine my chagrin when I actually got out of bed and to my computer and realized that that song is *not* a Sublime song.

Sigh. The Benevolent L and I just went over this last summer. Bradley Nowell and Art Alexakis are not the same person. Bradley Nowell was the lead singer of Sublime and he OD'd. Art Alexakis was the lead singer of Everclear and he is, as far as I know, still very much alive. But listen to this:



Don't they have a very similar vocal quality? Plus, the 90s were a long time ago. How the hell am I supposed to keep this shit straight?

Anyway, the reason I had "I Will Buy You a New Life" stuck in my head when I woke up was that I must have heard it yesterday while listening to the 90s channel on satellite radio again while I was...wait for it...wait for it...painting my hallway. Yup, if it's a major holiday weekend, that means Andrea is painting shit again. When I finish painting later today, I will try to get a picture up, because I need advice, all y'all. The back door to my porch, which is painted a horrible poop brown, looks especially bad next to the new wall color and I need to know what I should do with it. But now I must go get ready and get my ass to the gym so I can come back and finish that.

Later!

xoxo

Thursday, November 24, 2011

anyone wanna come clean my kitchen?

No? Well, it was worth a try.

I guess I'll just lie here on my loveseat awhile longer, listening to the Reality Bites station on satellite radio and digesting. (Nothing says the holidays like Alice in Chains, yo.) Maybe the good-dishes-washing fairy will come while I get my grunge fix.

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all.



xoxo

Monday, November 21, 2011

stop the insanity!

Remember this chick?



This post has nothing to do with her. I just wanted to use her catch phrase as my title and it dinged something in the recesses of my brain.

Nope, the insanity I would like to stop is the fact that last night on the way to my house, the Benevolent L and I saw three houses already completely festooned with Christmas lights, one on the Revere Beach Parkway, and two on 107. There was another one we almost counted, but it was decorated in orange lights and we kinda thought it probably was someone who hasn't taken down their Halloween decorations yet. Or maybe they're just gonna multi-purpose them.

N E Way, I do not approve of Christmas lights going up on people's houses the day after Thanksgiving, so I sure as hell do not approve of them in mid-November. I am sorry to bitch about this every year (look back, I'm pretty sure I have!) but it really pisses me off.

But you know what is hilarious? Another thing The Benevolent L and I were talking about is my now-official menopause, and I was telling her that the one bright spot she has to look forward to is that the hormonal mood swings are g.o.n.e. Things that used to irritate me so fucking much (at the wrong time of the month, obvs) no longer do so! I think that is leading us to more of a rant-free and possibly less entertaining blog, boys and girls, but take solace in the fact that some things, like Christmas decorations in the autumn, will continue to prod me to complain.

Plus, if the choice is between entertaining yous people and not having my boobs be sore twenty days out of every month like during the perimenopause hormonal flux, I will take the non-sore boobs. Sorry, but that is just the way it is.

xoxo

Thursday, November 17, 2011

intrigued, horrified...


It's all on the same continuum, right? This both makes me kinda want to gag, but also to try it. It looks very labor-intensive though. Maybe it's the kind of thing you make for guests you really don't like all that much, such that you get to mess around and make it, then have the added satisfaction of watching them politely eat it when they maybe want to gag? I've given up ever entertaining people I don't actually like, though, so I can't even do that. But maybe it's actually tasty? I know some people swear by Thanksgiving-leftover sandwiches, but that was never a "thing" in my family. As far as I am concerned, cranberry sauce goes on the side of your plate, gets eaten with a fork, and doesn't touch your other food.

What's up with Thanksgiving being so early this year anyway? It seems too close to my birthday, even though it's NOT on the earliest possible date. Maybe I'm just in denial because I ain't ready for all this holiday nonsense, followed by the two to three months of freezing cold and snow nonsense.

In other news, I really need a massage.

Happy Thursday!

xoxo

Saturday, November 12, 2011

really, I'm stepping up to the plate on titles any day now

So. In the last two days I have received two packages from amazon containing birthday presents. (Not too late to visit my wishlist, kids. You have till Friday not to be tardy. You'll just have to pay expedited shipping for your slacking.) One of them contained a medium-sized item (new George Forman grill with the removable plates) and one contained a small-medium item (Total Gym pull up bar). Both of them came encased in giant cloth bags cinched with ribbon. I mean, giant bags. You could fit small children in them. It's fairly hilarious.




My son, purchaser of the pull up bar, sneered at it and said, "I THOUGHT they were going to gift wrap that for me." I was like, "That's it. That *is* the gift wrapping." This was not apparently what he was envisioning when he paid the gift wrap surcharge. On the other hand, I'm sure that giant bag has the potential for many re-uses. Like we could...hide a toddler in there? I dunno. But I'm sure it'll come in handy someday.

It did crack me up. I'm sure this is a cost-cutting device, because now you don't have to pay someone to nicely cut and fold and tape wrapping paper. Some warehouse worker now just needs to select a giant bag that more or less fits the item, plop it in there, and cinch the bag. Et voila!

Does anyone remember the mid-90s amazon? Whenever you bought anything, you got a plethora of freebies: sticky notes, notepads, pens, all kinds of swag. I mean, I know it was advertising, but it was useful shit for free. Eventually, as they took over the world, that got downgraded to bookmarks. And now, not only don't you get anything for nothing, you don't even get real gift wrapping when you pay for it. I do think they were the online company that started the free shipping bandwagon, though, and now most places have it, so I do give them props for that. But, otherwise? Customer service/appreciation has gone down the tubes.

And such is life, I guess. I did notice yesterday that CNN had changed their Penn State terminology to "sex abuse scandal" so apparently I wasn't the only person enraged by their nomenclature on Thursday.

Happy Saturday, kids! Hide n' Seek with giant gift bags starts...NOW!

xoxo

Thursday, November 10, 2011

you know what is pissing me off? and more again!

CNN keeps referring to the Penn State business as a "sex scandal." No. A married politician cheating on his or her spouse is a sex scandal. A public figure's embarrassing sex tape being leaked is a sex scandal. A celebrity being arrested for visiting prostitutes is a sex scandal. Little boys being fondled and/or sodomized by a grown man in a locker room shower is not a sex scandal. It is a child abuse scandal. Rape =/= sex. Sorry, CNN, you morons, you.

.....................................................................................

In kinder, gentler, much more happy news, I think I forgot to tell you all, but guess who stopped by our offices last week? Our Lil MILF! She is alive, well, still working for the Commonwealth approving people for subsidized housing, still working on her degree, and still without a man. And full of hilarious anecdotes as usual. Miss her! I hugged the crap out of her before remembering she doesn't like to be hugged. Heh. She was hugging back though. I think working here, we desensitized her to the whole not liking to be touched business.

.....................................................................................

And can you stand one more (okay, maybe two more) stories about the online dating fiasco?

1.) So, last week, I added some stuff to my profile. An additional answer to the question "I spend a lot of time thinking about..." was how snoozeworthy all the profiles on here are; try harder, muthafuckas. And we wonder why I don't have me a man. I'm sitting home alone polishing my Miss Congeniality trophy every night. No, seriously though, if you're not gonna love me for me, I don't want you, muthafucka. But I was noticing that since I added that I hadn't gotten any mail from any new people who I hadn't already corresponded with. Which made me conclude that the men of OKC are either humorless, easily intimidated, or offended by comic profanity. Or all three! But then I got mail yesterday from this dude who said, "I *am* trying harder, muthafucka!" and "I think I may be in love", wink wink. Apparently he likes cranky chicks. He invited me to peruse his profile and write back if I thought we might click. Well. First of all he lives 72 miles away in East Bumfuck, NH. Secondly, whilst living in East Bumfuck, NH, he is "mostly off the grid", likes week-long wilderness trips, and thinks everyone ought to own a gun. But he also believes in most of the liberal blue state hooha I do, like gay marriage and abortion rights blah blah. So, I ask you: scary Libertarian survivalist or no? And I probably shouldn't respond to say thanx but no thanx, right?

2.) So the other thing that happened while I was on last night checking out possibly scary Libertarian survivalist profiles was that I got on the side of my screen a "you might like..." of a gentleman whose compatibility with me was apparently so low that on the profile tab where you can see how they answered their multiple choice questions and compare with your own answers, a tab which usually says something like "about you two", it instead said "y'all got problems." I think I laughed for five minutes when I noticed that. I should probably go on a date with someone who the computer says is 40% my enemy just so I can report on the conversation to you all. Maybe including cell phone footage of me throwing my glass of wine in his face or something! Good times.

Okay, that's all for now! Happy Thursday that's really like a Friday...muthafuckas.

xoxo

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

update

I did wash my hair before going to Home Depot, but I also went to the gym before going to Home Depot, so the sweat probably cancelled out any beautifying effect. Indeed, not only did I not meet my contractor future second ex-husband today, the plethora of orange-clad gentlemen who usually flock to help me did not appear. It was kinda demoralizing. I must really look like shit today. However, even without any help, I found the Badger5, and it costs $99.99 there, as opposed to the $77.whatever it's going for on amazon. With tax, that's close to a thirty dollar difference! God bless the internet. Didn't see any (reasonably priced) kitchen faucets that grabbed me any more than the one I posted, either. I was glad to see the finishes in person, though. The "nickel" is definitely the way to go. D and Ms Crispix, you guys are absolutely correct.

Oh, and despite my apparent un-attractiveness today, I did get a nice compliment (and, hey, if I got it while looking like poop, it must have been genuine) at the gym. The older guy I told you said I deserved to have a case of beer bought for me the other week? Well, I saw him again today. I was doing rack pulls (at 135, muthafuckas) and I waved at him in between sets. He apparently had seen that I was having grip problems and mimed at me to use a mixed grip. Which I did, and it worked. (Thank you, Gym Guy Whose Name I Don't Know.) So afterwards, when I was doing my seated cable rows, he came over and said, "You're moving more weight than I can." He looked where in the stack I had the pin, smiled and shook his head, and said, "Scary!" Ha! Made my day. I may be poor and losing my looks, not to mention atrophying important body parts, but I'm in prime physical condition, yo.

xoxo

live mics, expensive hot water n' decorating decisions, + more

Plus more!

I was gonna write this post last night but I was feeling a little bit too down.

I have a nice brand new hot water heater, which I will appreciate shortly when I attempt to bathe my (not really) stinky body, but the whole shenanigans cost a lot more than I was expecting. I had two very nice minions of Mr Waldman in my basement all afternoon, so obviously the labor was money. (Steer your children into a career in plumbing, boys and girls, and they can support you in your old age when your federal government stops sending you social security and the bank eats your 401k!) I'm also getting a new garbage disposal and very much needed kitchen faucet, but the very nice minions basically showed me the figures for what it costs if they supply the faucet rather than buying it myself (whoa!), so they're coming back when I have the parts. And then one of the very nice minions told me I should pick up my own garbage disposal too if they're gonna do that, 'cause that'll save me a big markup too. And helpfully told me exactly which one to get and what color box it comes in. Ell oh ell. They were very nice. Anyway, I found it on amazon for $77, which is 59% off list price, so I'ma order it tomorrow.

Oh, P.S., my very nice plumbers confirmed that 14+ years was a damn good lifespan for my water heater, because they usually last ten years or less. I think the hard water croaks them.

Meanwhile, I also spent hours yesterday, while they were here and after, looking at faucets online. I need one that fits a "four hole sink". [Insert that "sex orgies" joke I missed the other day here.] I think I have made a decision.




Nice, huh? $95 on amazon, which is also more than half off. I had to confer with my son on which finish would best go with our stainless steel sink, and he thought the less shiny, darker one, and I think I concur. If you think otherwise, vote now before I order my plumbing supplies tomorrow. I am gonna stop by Home Depot today too, just to make sure none of this stuff isn't cheaper there and/or that there isn't a faucet on their shelves that kicks this one's ass, but I'm pretty sure my bargain amazon prices with no tax will be better.

Now, onto international politics. I am lulzing over Obama and Carla's husband trash talking the Israeli dude and getting caught. Though, Mr Obama was pretty circumspect, you must admit. I woulda been, "Oh, yeah, isn't he a douche??!!!??" which is why I am not involved in international politics, boys and girls. Anyway, I think it's hilarious that there's all this handwringing over this. Are we supposed to believe/pretend that just because another country is our ally, their leader and our leader will automatically be BFFs? We all live in the real world, right? We all have to work occasionally with people we heartily dislike yet must make nice to, and we all in that situation will roll our eyes and vent about them when given the chance.

In domestic politics, I am pretty sure Herbert Cain is a douche. A sleazebag douche. Also, thank god that "personhood" law was defeated in Mississippi. BRB, banning oral contraceptives because some people don't understand human physiology!

Alright, I think I have given you all the news and opinions I had to share. Happy Wednesday!

xoxo

Monday, November 7, 2011

i just lost half a post

...in which I asked for your advice and also made a really good joke. But now you will never read it. Son of a fuckin' bitch. It's too long to recreate.

Blogger, you owe me one.

xoxo

Thursday, November 3, 2011

lost treasures of the andreaolithic

So, yeah, I was down in the basement cleaning again the other day. As much as I like to blame the hoarding problem on my dad (RIP), since he cannot defend himself, the truth is, a lot of the crap down there *is* mine and D's. Case in point, I excavated a few boxes of glassware that were never unpacked when we moved here. Proof? All the breakables were wrapped in newspapers from 1995. And, no, I did not stop to read what was going on back then when I was unwrapping it all, though it was tempting. That's the kind of procrastination technique we here at casa Andrea try to avoid.

While I was unwrapping and unpacking and trying to make a decision about whether I was going to keep any of this crap (answer: no) or donate it all, I had it all lined up on the basement stairs. I almost climbed over it and went upstairs to get my camera, so I could share. As much as I would like to think I am not the kind of person who ever owned a.) music boxes b.) four matching cat-themed porcelain mugs or c.) one of those light-up ceramic Xmas trees, the proof is in a donation box downstairs. In my defense, the fact that all that shit was never unpacked suggests I didn't ever even want it. One cannot help what other people give one. I mostly blame my former M-I-L (RIP). She meant well, but that woman had the worst taste of anyone I have ever met. You know what else I found? Some giant margarita glasses, still with the Princess House stickers on them. OMG. I think I was roped into having a "crystal party" at one time in the early 90s, but I had mercifully blocked it from my memory. Can you people imagine me as the sort of person who would ever have a crystal party? I swear, at one point I tried to fit in with the other mommies, but it was hopeless.

And finally, I found some more shredding for D to do for me. I guess I don't need my bank statements from 1993. He's been doing it for an hour or so every night since I gave it to him. There's only so much of that you can do at once. Shredding is really tedious. Well, this morning I came down to find a pile of polaroids on my coffee table, that he apparently found in the box. Pictures of me from that era call up a lot of emotions: oh, look, remember when I was young and pretty? along with OMFG, the *hair*. But you know what shocked me? I had bags and circles under my eyes even then. If I looked like that in candid photos when I was 30-ish, I can only imagine what I look like now.

Plus, my vagina is atrophying. In case you forgot.

Love you!

xoxo

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

vaginal atrophy starts...NOW, and other news!

Oh, hai, kids. Did I tell you I went to my PCP last week? I can't remember. (And this is part of the problem.) Well, I did. And in the mail today I got my lab results. It's official. My estrogen has bottomed out and my FSH is through the roof. I'm in menopause. Woofuckinhoo! Not surprised, what with the hot flashes and the incredible, scary stupidity, but as detailed before, I'm not sure I'm ready for this. Not that I have a choice.

So I popped my letter from the doctor into my purse and went off to meet M2. We were meeting in Central Square and repairing to Inman Oasis to redeem my $5 soak from RueLaLa (the one that took me a month of calls and emails to get the voucher for, because apparently it was getting blocked in my email somehow? yeah, that one) and then go to lunch. There I was, on the Red Line, getting my phone out to text M2 that I was almost there, when I looked up to see the doors closing and then hear the overhead announcement that the next stop was Harvard. Son of a bitch. I thought we were only at Kendall. So I had to text M2 instead that I missed the stop and was hopping on a train coming back at Harvard. Sigh. When the fuck am I going to get my brain back? M2 says the stupidity and spaciness does not last forever. Either that, or your memory gets so bad, you don't actually remember you don't have one anymore. Oh, the lulz. Thanks, M2!

In any case, the soak was great, and then we went to the All Star Sandwich Bar, where I had a tuna melt and M2 had deviled eggs and salad, and we split (at her insistence) an order of poutine. I did not have the heart to point out that I was pretty sure that gravy isn't, y'know, technically vegetarian. Besides, once she mentioned it I really wanted that poutine.

And eventually I popped back on the commuter rail, headed for the gym. And started dozing. I think it was the poutine carbs. Felt like Thanksgiving dinner, yo. In any case, I woke up with a start, looked out the window, and saw we were passing Bridge Street and were about to go into the tunnel leading to Salem Depot. In other words, for everyone who's reading this and isn't Uncle and knows nothing about the North Shore, I almost missed my stop for the second time in one day. Which would have been really tragic had I not come to until Rowley or something. Sigh. I'm telling all y'all, I'm becoming a danger to myself and others.

I hauled my sleepy ass off the train and to the gym, where I proceeded to burp up poutine throughout my squats and my SLDLs. You haven't lived till you've continually burped poutine for fifteen minutes in the power rack, kids. Going to the weight room in Quebec must be quite the experience.

Well, I hope you all had a lovely Wednesday that lacked bad news about your private parts, transportation snafus, and digestive distress after tasty food. Kiss kiss.

xoxo

Monday, October 31, 2011

best comeback EVAH

I just had three little trick-or-treaters at my door, two boys and a girl. They were jockeying for position to get their candy, i.e. "I go first!" "No, I'm first!" Well, I filled the little girl's pillowcase first and (I'm assuming) her brother said, "She goes first every time." "Ladies first," I said, semi-seriously, and the kid goes, in a serious, aggrieved tone,

...wait for it...wait for it...

"But she's not a lady! She's a little girl!"

I.die. I.am.DEAD.

Watch out for that kid! He's got a future in politics!

xoxo

more media ranting and other topics

On Saturday evening when I got home, 6:45-ish, it was just starting to change between rain and snow/sleet. I walked into the house, and D had channel 7 news on his TV, so I went to look at what the weather was saying. The douche on there (Pete Bouchard? I think)--who by the way, was the same douche who on the Sunday of the hurricane kept saying all morning and all afternoon, with a barely disguised glee under his veneer of concerned face, that NO MATTER HOW HOPEFUL IT LOOKED OUT THERE, don't be complacent, because a tree was still probably going to fall on your house, and here's why--was saying that this October storm was going to be as bad as the great ice storm of 2008 or Irene, and you, viewer, were going to probably lose your power, so this might well be the last TV weather report you'd be hearing, maybe for days. Seriously. And again, with this kind of barely-disguised sadistic glee, like wasn't this fun that you, viewer, were screwed, and he got to tell you about it. I can't even. I understand TV meteorologists being excited by big storms. Back in the good old days, Dicky Albert used to be like a five year old who got into the Halloween candy and followed it up with three Pepsis and maybe a Red Bull, but it was more, "Well, this model is telling us *this* and this model is telling us *that*, and OMFG, isn't it fascinating? let's see which way this baby goes!" Never, "Dudes, you're all probably gonna die, so start worrying now!" Sigh.

I pretty much gave up watching the local news in the early 90s because every morning when I was getting dressed for work, it was a never ending parade of stories about horrific abuse cases, rapes, kidnappings, grisly murders--basically the more sordid, disgusting, and soul-killing the crime, the more they gleefully covered it, and it made me start every day off in a bad, bad mood. Apparently, this journalistic bent now applies to the weather forecast as well. Sensationalize it as much as you can and never look at the upside. If I was more of a conspiracy theorist, I'd suggest they're in cahoots with BigPharma to sell more antidepressants and anti-anxiety drugs. But, really, the whole consumer culture we're living in is driven by various forms of anxiety, isn't it? People who are calm and content and at peace with themselves aren't the ones who can be convinced that they really need objects and services they don't really need.

And that's my smooth segue to asking all y'all how long a water heater usually lasts. Lulz. Just over the last week or so, my water isn't getting as hot and is running out sooner. Like, when I'm rinsing off dishes, usually if I have the hot water turned on all the way, it gets hot enough that it's difficult for me to keep my hands under it. Now, no. Or, if I try to take a bath, there isn't enough hot water to fill it up as deep as I want to the temperature I want, and that's never been a problem. So yesterday when I was down the basement cleaning and purging again, I took a look at the water heater, and while there was nothing visibly wrong with it, the sticker on it said it was installed in 1997. That's almost 15 years (yeah, I did the math for you--you're welcome). Do you think it's just reaching the end of its natural life and needs to be replaced? How much is that gonna run me? I don't remember how much it cost in 1997, yo. You'll be happy to know I'm conserving money by, as I resolved, not cracking and putting the heat on yet. It was 58 in the downstairs and 54 in the upstairs yesterday. Ha! (And, WTF, doesn't heat *rise*? Shouldn't the sun on the roof make the upstairs warmer, all other things considered?)

And finally, I did put out another metal chair with my trash this week, along with a couple plastic table thingies and an old lawn chair, but, alas, I slept too late this morning to see whether anyone collected any of it off my curb before the trash guys showed up.

Happy Halloween!

xoxo

Saturday, October 29, 2011

son, i am disappoint

So not happy with the Texas Rangers. I mean, I know, they are not my real team, they are just the team I adopted for the playoffs, but nevertheless watching them blow a World Series that they were so close to winning was heartbreaking. And now baseball season is *really* over and I have a long winter of sports boredom ahead of me. Tragic.

You know what else is tragic? The weather forecast. I refuse to believe it's going to actually appreciably snow before Halloween. I will not accept it as a possibility until I look out my window and see white shit on the ground. It's ridiculous.
Also, the heat is not going on in my house until Thanksgiving. Till then, it's sweatshirts, UGG sweater boots, couch blankets, the space heater, and using the oven a lot to warm up the kitchen.

Can I tell you another sad online dating story? I guess I have to explain the background. So, on OKC, they have all these questions that you can answer. Not only do you answer your own answer, you answer what answers you'd accept from a prospective partner, and then you rank how important the question is to you. This all allows them to give you a fakeass compatibility score with other people and for them to suggest matches for you. Well, filling these out as honestly as I could, I may have left open the possibility that I am open to non-monogamy. Which I am. Of a very circumscribed type. OKC, however, has taken that to mean that I am up for banging married guys. (Hence, I suppose, the 60-something Boston lawyer who wanted me to commit adultery with him.) Well, no, that's not what I'm looking for, but thanks anyway. I see no way to edit my questions honestly yet rule out that assumption. Probably gonna have to come out and say something in the body of my profile for those horndogs who actually, y'know, read.

But anyway, to get to the point, this guy writes to me yesterday and says in a very smarmy tone (yes, sometimes there *is* tone in email), "I wonder why our compatibilty is 80%?" So I check out his profile. He's 40 years old, he's from Gloucestah, and he's in an "open" marriage. I wonder if his wife is too! (Oh, I kill myself.) So that's what the smarminess is about. He thinks I'm interested in banging married guys too. If it wouldn't cause me untold embarrassment, I'd show his profile to Townie Girl and see if she knows him and if he's as big a douchebag as it seems. I'm sure she knows him. She's 36-ish, so close enough in age to him, and she's very social--she knows everybody. But since no one in work can ever know I have an online dating profile, alas I cannot get the dirt. Son, I really am disappoint.

Stay warm!

xoxo

Wednesday, October 26, 2011

guess what i did yesterday?

Squatted my body weight for 5 reps, bitches! Okay, I squatted 115 for 5 reps, and I'm 118-ish these days, but fuckin' close enough. When I was just getting under the bar to start my last set, the 115 set, one of the old guys at the gym that I know to say "hi" to, saw me, caught my eye, and nodded and smiled. Later when I was doing what are either SLDLs or Romanian DLs (there's some discrepancy about terminology, yo) and resting between sets, I saw him heading over to me, so I popped out an earbud to hear him. "I was gonna say you're a glutton for punishment today," he said. I laughed and said, "I squatted my body weight for the first time today. I feel like someone should buy me a cake!" You know, with Happy Squatting Achievement, Andrea! written on it. And he says, "Never mind a cake. Someone should buy you a case of beer!" Oh, the lulz. Lacking anyone to pony up either the cake or the beer, I bough myself a cookie dough brownie at Coven later. Mmmmmm, brownies.

Hope your athletic and fitness accomplishments are also continuing apace! (Rumor has it Uncle is hiking like whoa and Ms Crispix is still yoga teacher training. I don't know what the rest of you slackers are up to.) And remember, if only fuckin' Lackey's surgeon drinks a little too much the night before his Tommy John's, we could conceivably never have to watch him pitch again. Someone buy *that man* a case of beer!

xoxo

Monday, October 24, 2011

and just because this keeps making me laugh



That cat looks exactly like Evil Kitty (RIP) and that is exactly the expression she would have had, if we had ever successfully gotten a little pirate hat on her head.

xoxo

hoarders! north of boston edition!

Still cleaning out the basement, all y'all, throwing things out little by little and testing the limits of what I think the trash guys will take. I have seen some of the around-the-corner neighbors put, like, recliners out on the curb and they're not still there in the evening, so either the city takes them or those people drag 'em back into the house in a very timely manner.

Anyway, last night besides my three trash barrels and one lone Hefty bag, I put out two chairs that were down the basement: one green molded plastic "outdoor" chair that no one uses and one decrepit metal framed kitchen chair with a ripped seat that obviously was left behind by the lady who owned the house before us. There's another similar one down there, but I wasn't pushing my luck by putting out three trash-worthy chairs in one week. This morning when I got up, I peeked out to see if the garbagemen had come yet. They had not. However, that metal chair was gone! Somebody liberated it from my trash. Why anyone would want a 25 year old kitchen chair with a ripped seat that doesn't even have a mate, I could not fathom.

However, then it came to me: someone, riding around my neighborhood in the dawn hours, is a freakin' hoarder. It's the only sensible explanation for why anyone would take that. Though why they didn't take the plastic chair that was in better condition, I don't know. Maybe that metal chair is some kind of valuable retro antique and I was too stupid to know it was worth hundreds of bucks. Next week I'll try putting out the other chair and see if it disappears too.

I have to say, throwing shit out is so liberating, I am getting close to hiring a dumpster. I think it would be cheaper than the 1-800-junk guys and at this point I think I'm past caring about the neighbors hating me. This requires some thought. Hmmm. I'd like to take a week off from work in order to throw shit out, but I just cashed in a week of earned time to help with my cash flow, so I'm hoarding (see what I did there?) time off at the moment.

Happy Monday. Stay out of your neighbor's garbage, unless you're absolutely sure they're tossing out antiques. Antiques that are certified bedbug-free.

xoxo

Friday, October 21, 2011

Thursday, October 20, 2011

yesterday, today, and tomorrow

Yesterday I stayed home all day and did some more fall cleaning. This involved removing some more crap out of the basement, spending *an hour* cleaning the microwave (I dunno what the hell D has been exploding in there, but damn), and stripping everything off my bed, including the bedskirt, washing it all, and remaking it with the winter linens, including stuffing the goddamned down comforter into the muthafuckin duvet, and then dusting and vacuuming and picking up some clutter in there. I had been doing so well keeping on top of the housecleaning for awhile, but I slipped this summer and I hadn't dusted the bedroom in way too long. This morning I woke up and I was 75% less stuffy than I usually am in the morning. Coincidence? Probably not!

Today one of our patients who had been away at college in Montreal and had what is probably going to turn out to be a psychotic break, poor kid, came in for testing. He saw a psychiatrist in the hospital in Canada who thought he may be having seizure activity and recommended he come home to MA, because there was no way the testing he needed could be done there without a nine month wait. I kinda wish M1 was around and not on vacay in Las Vegas so she could have gone on one of her tea partier socialized medicine rants. Ha!

Also today, I got email from a 60-something married Boston lawyer who wants to know if I am up for being the friend and lover of an older married man. Jesus wept. Ashley Madison--->that way. I mean, good god, even if he *wasn't* a lawyer. I'm torn between a.) ignoring it as I do all comeons from people I'm not interested in, b.) answering with a short, sweet "hell, no" or c.) asking what's in it for me. Option c.) might be amusing, but on the other hand, I'm really not mean. Only to you guys.

Tomorrow. I will write a really good blog post that isn't as boring as this one. Maybe. Stay tuned.

xoxo

Wednesday, October 19, 2011

my cat, Booney, and seasonal randomosity

When I was just in the kitchen getting coffee, a centipede ran across my floor. In the time it took me to a.) shriek and b.) get a paper towel to squish it with, it disappeared, probably beneath the refrigerator. And it made me think, I wish Booney were still alive.

Booney, besides being the best cat EVAH (more later), looked on centipedes as fancee people look on Beluga caviar and black truffles. The day or two a year when one made it into the house were like Christmas to him. Though he was not a cat with the propensity to hunt--no Evil Kitty, that's for sure--and never one to get too excited about trying to catch shit, he somehow had the instinct to pounce on those gross mofos and slurp them right up. It was disgusting, and yet useful. ('Cause, like, do you think squishing those things with a paper towel *isn't* also disgusting?)

The story of how we got Booney is thus: when I was twenty, my cousin A who was two years younger than I, lived at home, was a frequent guest at our apartment and thus very close to me and my future ex-husband, was moving and her parents said she could NOT take all 3 cats with her to their new apartment. S stopped by their house and, already charmed by the best kitten EVAH, brought him home, because there was no way that cat was going to the shelter on our watch. Booney, who had recently been bought by my cousin at a pet store (probably when she was high to be honest), was unfortunately flea infested and so soon was the wall-to-wall carpeting in our apartment. It was horrible. I remember calling my *other* uncle who was an exterminator in tears, asking him what kind of flea bomb to use. He talked me out of it. I don't remember how exactly he told me to get rid of the fleas without dangerous pesticides, but eventually we did. My point being, this cat was so friggin' lovable, even infesting my house with parasites did not lower our opinion of him. I can't explain exactly what it was about him, but even people who didn't particularly like cats loved him.

He was a spazzy little kitten, but unlike Evil Kitty, he was not destructive. He just ran around a lot. One day while I was at college, I got called out of class to take a phone call about a family emergency. (Remember the days before cell phones? Yeah.) Needless to say, I was freaking out, thinking someone had died. No. It was S. He was at the vet with Booney, who had a broken front leg. Supposedly from trying to jump up onto the top of the refrigerator, though I always had my doubts. (When my ex woke up from his coma and was having his brief moment of repentance for all the shit things he'd done in his life, I shoulda gotten the real story. Alas, I was a little too freaked out at the time to think of it.) The vet was giving him three options, which is why he needed me to tell him what to do. We could have a pin put in the cat's leg for, like, $600. We could have a cast put on for $200, but there was no guarantee he'd walk right after that. Or we could put him to sleep. For reference as to how much money this was in 1983 dollars, the rent on our apartment was $450 a month. (I have no idea why I remember what my rent was in 1983 when I can't remember wtf I did yesterday, but it's just one of those numbers that stick in my mind, like the fact that I weighed 118 at my first prenatal visit.) We picked the cast, as that was as much as we could afford, and even that was stretching it. The cat healed perfectly without the extra $400, by the way. This was my first clue that vets, much like dentists and auto mechanics, are thieving bastards who will happily try to fleece you out of your life savings by trying to convince you that unnecessary expensive procedures are absolutely crucial.

But while Booney had the cast on, he provided many hours of entertainment to visitors, even those who weren't high!, because he would run spastically around our apartment on his three legs, the casted leg out to the side, and get the cast stuck on door frames. Then his little legs would be moving a hundred miles an hour, but he wouldn't be going anywhere. Like a real life roadrunner cartoon. If only there were youtube in 1983, that cat would have been the fucking celeb he deserved to be. If only.

I could tell you many other stories about how awesome this cat was, but we'd be here all day. Let me just say, I had him from the age of 20 till the age of 37, he died on my lap on the way to the vet's [from a bad heart], and I still miss him. Especially when there are centipedes about, but y'know, otherwise too.

....................................................................................

And now the seasonal randomosity! You guys know what I do every freakin' October, right? I buy a Dunkin' Donuts pumpkin muffin, I eat it, it sucks, I bemoan the fact that I haven't learned from previous sad experience and the fact that I wasted 600 calories (really! look it up, it's crazy!) on something that sucked, and then I tell you people I'm not going to do it again. Well. Yesterday was that day.

And then today I got some mini pumpkins and put them on my centerpiece on the dining room table. (The weekend before last, I changed up my dining room table stuff and my foyer stuff for the season. After I'd had a little wine. I was telling someone about this in email after I did it, commenting that I thought it looked good, but I probably had to wait till the next day after I hadn't been drinking to be sure, and they said "rearranging furniture after you've been drinking:...wait for it...wait for it...Feng Sway." And you people think *I'm* the only one. Ha!)



But there it is, with added pumpkins. Festive, no?

And if it's time to decorate with mini pumpkins and eat crappy calorie-bomb pumpkin muffins, you know what time it also is, right? Time to peruse my amazon wishlist and figure out what you're getting me for my birthday which is T minus 30 days. Don't wait till you have to pay for expedited shipping, is all I'm sayin'. You're welcome! No, no, no, your friendship and lurve is all the present I could ever want. (Believe that like I believe that cat really fell off the refrigerator, bitches. Kiss kiss.)

xoxo

Tuesday, October 18, 2011

yur govmint at work

No, no, no. I'm not gonna talk politics. I'm just going to let you know that I got an automated phone call from the city the other day informing me that we on the lower North Shore have been designated a Federal disaster area for the October 4th flash flood. This means that had my flooded basement actually caused me any damage that my insurance company did not pay for***, I would have been eligible for a low interest loan to fix that shit up. Go, Mr Obama's minions! There's an office set up to process this at the Salem city hall annex. Not that I needed to know this, but I did listen to the whole recording.

My city government, in totally unrelated news, is rolling out these new test recycling bins that are bigger than my actual trash barrels. You could fit hella stuff in them. Unfortunately, only a few streets got them. Including the one around the corner from me, but not mine. I am stuck with two little tubs the size of a milk crate. So every recycling day, I walk past the neighbors' giant bins with seething envy, cursing their good fortune. I would *love* to recycle everything possible, but sometimes my bins are full before pickup day and I have to throw plastic in the trash, like a very, very bad girl.

And finally, my mayor (and former blog subject) is bitching because apparently the UN has been resettling refugees here and the school department is stuck trying to educate kids who come from tribes with no written language and/or who have never set foot in an actual school before. This costs, as you may imagine, lots and lots o' money, and our mayor thinks the UN ought to be ponying up some cash or else stop sending people here. It is kind of bizarre that the UN would single us out as some place to resettle people who heretofore were herding cows or some such. Wouldn't some place a.) warmer and b.) less,um, aggressively urban be less of an adjustment? Arizona! They should send them to Arizona! They like immigrants there!

Oh, I kill myself.

xoxo

I forgot the motherfucking footnote again. This isn't even funny.

***I don't think I told you, but the day I was bailing out my basement, the insurance guy finally called me back noon-ish and I told him I had it under control and wasn't going to need to hire anyone, so Ididn't need his help. And then I hung up without finding out whether it *would* have been covered. So I still don't know. D'oh.

Thursday, October 13, 2011

varied things, now a trilogy!

Seriously, guys, I wish I had something substantive to write about that would take up a whole post. Then I could stop just spewing the random contents of my brain at you. However, until that day comes, this is what you get.

1.) You can't expect me to be intelligent or clever today anyhow, because I had like three hours of sleep. Why did you have three hours of sleep, Andrea? Because I could hear it raining hard outside and I was afraid/paranoid/flipping out my basement was flooding again. I went down to look at 1 am and all was fine. I was wide awake at 6 am and all was still fine. None of that helped me to sleep. Sigh.

2.) Monday on the holiday I was out walking all over the city of Boston, drinking and eating crap, and incidentally getting my feet chewed up by my sandals. Tuesday I had a big weird blister on the bottom of my right foot. I put a blister bandaid on it and hobbled all day. Yesterday, however, not being in work, I wore my UGG sweater boots--without socks--and walked about in fleecy comfort. Four miles in fleecy comfort, to be exact. Today my bad foot is all better. Coincidence? I think not. Still trying to justify that expense? Shut up.

3.) If this offends anyone reading this, apologies in advance. Every time I write a post saying I disapprove of or mocking something, I find out my blog readers all run up the stairs at Porter Square station or some such shit, and I've just insulted them. It's not personal, I swear to god. If I make fun of something and you do it or like it, you are the only exception to the rule. Remember that, por favor.

Okay! Here goes.

3.) I have never approved of people naming their kids after themselves. You know, like John Smith, Jr. I, first of all, have a visceral reaction to it, like, "Give the kid his own name, don't make him share yours. Damn." That doesn't necessarily make any logical sense; it's just a visceral reaction. But secondly, it leads to the kinda thing where a friend of mine calls her (26 year old, for god's sake) grandson "Little Ronny." This is to distinguish him from his father, Ronny, and his grandfather, Ron. The lack of dignity grows all down the line. The chance of having a grownup name kinda depends on the forebears kicking off. Do you want to be referring to your child as "little So n So" or calling him Junior when he's a Supreme Court justice? C'mon now. (Though, I must say, I do know a [Dominican] kid or two whose legal name is Junior, the mom just liking the sound of it and it not necessarily having the same connotations to her if her native language isn't English. I suppose this is better than naming your child Apple or Blanket, especially if you don't have a fortune for them to inherit.)

But it just occurred to me the other day that there is another pitfall to naming your child the same first name as his father, from the mother's point of view. If your husband's name is Harry and your son's name is also Harry, does it not make it impossible to then gasp out, "Oh, Harry, fuck me harder!" at the appropriate moment? Wouldn't doing so kill the mood, like, irreparably? So, yeah, you'd have to train yourself to only call your spouse by a special nickname in those, uh, intimate moments or you'd be back to only ever thinking of, or referring to, your child as Junior or whatever. Am I off base here? Is it just me? (Bonus points for figuring out what brings this up, ahahaha.)

4.) I was watching ESPN news yesterday morning and they were talking to Nomar, who does a lot of work for them, about the story in the Globe alleging all that stuff about Tito being ineffective because of his marital separation and/or pain pill usage, and the starting pitchers drinking beer and eating takeout fried chicken in the clubhouse while their teammates were out there sucking, and all the rest. So Nomar says, "Well, first of all, I haven't read it, because I don't read tabloids." Ooooo, burn. I guess Nomar is still a wee bit bitter, huh?

5.) OMG, I'm so excited, you guys. Beauty and the Beast, the TV series from the 80s with Linda Hamilton, is on Netflix instant view now! I watched a couple episodes last night while I was having my insomnia. The 80s really really were a bad fashion decade. But I like Linda Hamilton, even without her metaphorical and literal guns. She should get some acting jobs again, now that she isn't married to whatshisface anymore. She'd probably need to get a little work done, though.



55 year old women aren't allowed to look like 55 year old women in Hollywood.

I think that's it for now. Kiss kiss.

xoxo