Go, underdog, GO!

I finally figured out what it is about this video that makes me cry so much:  I love when underestimated people can shut up a crowd.   Beautiful.

Standing ovation, BITCHES!

You knew this was coming.

Tweet tweet.

My sister bought two Budgies yesterday.  Our Grandma had a huge bird named Polly for years that would say things like “Elvis?  Is that YOU?!”  I wasn’t a fan of the bird because it looked like it would take off one of my fingers if it had the chance, and I’m not a big fan of birds in general.  Plus, I think it’s kind of mean to keep something in a cage that was meant to fly.  It bugs me.  My sister’s argument to this was, “but you keep Wally!  and the cats!”  True, I do, but they aren’t in a tiny cage.  They have free roam of the house, a huge backyard and two of them have free roam of the neighborhood and they come back.  I think they like it here.  Especially now that there are two birds that they see as snacks in a cage, which somehow ended up in MY bedroom.  One of the cats sat outside my bedroom and meowed and pawed at the door all night and the birds haven’t chirped once until this morning.

So.. birds.  They’re not my thing.  My sister takes after my Grandma and loves them and I do not.   This morning one of them perched on my finger and wouldn’t get off of it, and as sweet as it as, I’m still on the bird’s side.  I talked to them and told them I’d bust them out as soon as their poor clipped wings grow back and we find ourselves living in Australia.

The longest year of my life.

I love you and miss you, Mom.  Time drags by without you.

The last picture actually made me laugh a little bit because at first I thought, “Mom looks tired in this picture”, but if you look closely, it’s easy to see why.  In the background you’ll see my older sister getting into mischief, and in the bottom right hand corner is my chunky baby leg.  She had her hands full.

One of my favorite things.

What I love about dogs:  when I pet them, they lean their body against my legs and it feels like a hug.   It never fails in making me smile, feel safe and comforted.  Even when I have a water logged house that I have to deal with.

Screwed.

I went to the house today to do the pre-move cleaning, and I walked into moldy ceilings, warped floors that are about to cave in and a flooded basement.   It’s completely unlivable from all of the water damage and I’m back to square one.

It’s a tearful damn day.  That is all.

Oh, crap.

The madness is setting in.

Electricity, water and gas will all be turned on by Tuesday, and the cable/internet/phone will be installed on the 30th.   My things have to be there at that time to ensure everything is in working order, so I’m moving in on the 29th.   That is in eight days, and I haven’t started to pack yet.   I should think about doing this soon, huh?  Luckily, I don’t have that much crap, and yes, I know – I say this now but when moving day rolls around and my life is in boxes I’ll think I have too much crap, but this is where I’m glad I’m not a knick knack/tchotchke sort of girl. Where one person might have a collection of tiny, ceramic angels, I prefer to use that space with a framed photograph.. and I have a lot of that, but they’re flat and stackable and easy to pack.  No problem.

I’m going up to the house on Tuesday to clean like a crazy woman, set up mousetraps (ick) and basically douse the place with bleach while I wait for the water company to show up and turn shit on.  Unfortunately there was some food left in the refrigerator that we forgot about when we turned off the electricity a few months ago, so I’m dreading that clean up task.   It was mostly condiments, but there were a few other items that should be unrecognizable at this point, and I think that’s a job for my brother-in-law.   He’s a special one that I’ll arm with bleach and baking soda, and I consider this as justice being served after putting up with his dirty kitchen habits for the last few months.

The next week is going to be hectic, but the bright side is this:  I’ll have a house to myself.  No more sharing a kitchen or bathroom, and I might celebrate by walking around naked for the first week.

Today can suck it.

I’m going out to drink my face off.

For the third time.

I love this face, but why does he make it so hard?  Sigh.

Sad fact:  I was walking to my car to run an errand and saw this guy walking halfway down the street and headed in my direction.  He spotted me, RAN with his tail wagging and greeted me with slobbery kisses.  And he brought a beautiful friend with him – a furry, beige husky mix with one blue eye/one brown, but by the time I brought out the camera the friend was gone and this one stayed.

Sadder fact:  Wallace, the 17lb toy dog, is too aggressive with this dog and that means I can’t keep him.

Bossy bench.

I’m really going to miss views like this when I move to the city.

This isn’t so bad.

I’m going to look on the bright side and NOT focus on the fact that I have tonsillitis, or the fact that my body hates me and refuses to be healthy, and instead keep in mind that this means I can be as lazy as I want to be (guilt free) for the next few days.   I’ve had tonsillitis and strep throat a million times before (for a 3 year period I was getting it 2-3 times a year), and this time around is pretty mild.   I’m not in any pain at all, throat or elsewhere, and at worst it’s only a little uncomfortable at times.    The fever has been mild when there is one (there usually isn’t) and my big and only complaint is I’m fatigued and everything tastes bad.    I know firsthand that it could be worse, so screw this bad mood!   I get to lounge around in pajamas and sleep as much as I want, and that is what dreams are made of.

Excuse the scowl

It’s been a bad goddamn day. My tonsils are covered in white stuff.  The taste in my mouth reminds me of a rotten pickle and I can only imagine what my breath is like.  That’s just the beginning of a long list of things that turned this day into a pile of crap, but that’s all I’m going to mention.

Can I bitch about something totally unrelated?  I was looking at twitter and noticed someone I follow tweeted,  “Accepting facebook friends for the next two hours.”    Is it just me, or is that a toolish thing to say?    First of all, it sounds like an advertisement for a job opening or a doctor’s office saying they’re accepting new patients.    It also makes it sound like there’s a certain amount of prestige to it, because a) it suggests he doesn’t normally accept facebook friends and b)  he’s only doing it for the next two hours, so you better act now while supplies last.   This guy is in demand, and facebook is serious business.

That sounds bitchy, doesn’t it?   Oh, well.  At least it’s consistent with the theme of the day.

Goodbye, Baldy.

I need to sell my Baldwin piano, and fast.  I rarely play it anymore and even though I’ve had it since I was little and hate to part with it for sentimental reasons (Mom bought it for me and loved hearing me play), I can’t justify keeping it and moving it with me, especially not multiple times.   Unfortunately, I have no idea what its value is, which makes listing it for a price kind of difficult.  I know I’m not going to get full asking price or get anywhere near what my parents paid for it in 1987, so I’m resigned to sell it cheap and get it out of here.  But how cheap is too cheap?  I don’t want to give it away for free.  $500?  $800?  This is a headache, and I’ll be honest, it makes me a little teary.

That face again

Hi.  Remember this guy?  The friendly dog who showed up at the house five months ago and refuse to leave with his sad face?  I wanted to keep him but he was obviously someone’s dog and Wallace is enough for me, so I called Animal Control.  When the guy showed up at the house to take the dog, he fell in love and promised he wouldn’t put him to sleep.  Never knew what happened to him, but the Animal Control Guy kept his promise because LOOK WHO’S SITTING IN MY GARAGE:

He’s been laying there all morning like he owns the place and wagging his tail at everyone he sees.    What’s a girl to do?

I’m keeping him next time.  If he shows up at the house again before I move and refuses to leave, then I guess it’s meant to be.

In lieu of words

Red-winged black bird.

By the way, while I was taking these pictures I was standing  on and around a bunch of  little burrows near the water that I’m told are full of water snakes.  Hello, courage stupidity.   Been a while since I’ve seen you.

The big question I have is:  why is this tree corseted?

Wonky-eyed and tongue tied Wallace.

Do you know who I am? He must not know who I am.

I went to Subway for a steak & cheese sub but  Mr. Subway did not get the birthday memo.   I asked for the yummy Italian herbs & cheese bread, but he said they were out.  No problem, I say, I’ll take regular Italian bread.  He gives me plain wheat.  I’m not going to get my panties twisted over bread, so this too is no problem.

Then he asks me what I want on it, and I tell him that I would like a steak & cheese sub, but NO, he says they do not make steak & cheese subs.  Weird, but again, no problem, I’ll just go with the Italian BMT sub.   While my sub is toasting, he helps the man in line behind me with his order.  Much to my surprise, he orders a cheese steak sub, and Mr. Subway makes him one.

While Mr. Subway is putting the veggies on my sub, I asked, “What’s the difference between a steak & cheese and a cheese steak?”  He replies with, “Not much.  Many people say the cheese steak is better.”   Thank God the only difference  is quality because I’d sure hate to MISS OUT.   I feel better now that I know that.

And that is the story of how I ended up with an inferior sub sandwich on my birthday.

How do you pause this thing?

Tomorrow is my 29th birthday, and it isn’t that I’m dreading nearing 30 (I’m not) – I just don’t want to do it tomorrow.   So, it would be my birthday if I felt like it, but I don’t.  So it isn’t.  How’s that for logic?  I’d say it’s pretty solid.  One of my sisters is three years older than me and her birthday is three days after mine, so at least there’s always someone I can point at and say, “YOU’RE NEXT!”

My plan was to stay in bed and be as lazy as I want to be while cuddling with Wally and watching Bret Michael’s magical weave on Rock of Love Bus, but some friends are dragging me out.  Expect drunk blogging later.

Gonna hit ya witcha own pimp!

Video is clean but there is a lot of foul language, so NSFW?

Moving to the city.

I’m moving to my Aunt’s old house in 3-6 weeks, and I haven’t started to pack yet.   Personally I’m thinking it’s too soon to pack, but I also don’t want to be left doing this at the last minute so maybe I’ll start soon by sorting through everything and getting rid of the things I don’t need.  The plan is to go to the house a week in advance and do some heavy duty cleaning so all I’ll have to do on moving day is bring my stuff in and take my time unpacking.  I’m not even sure if I will unpack most of the stuff since I’m only there to get the house in selling shape and get it sold.   Any good moving and packing tips?

The good news is I won’t have to share a kitchen area anymore, and holy crap, that’s going to be sweet.

The bad news is my Grandma died in that house, and even though I loved her, I’m thoroughly creeped out by that.   I’m going to be there alone and I don’t want to hear any funny noises or see anything out of the corner of my eye, if you know what I’m saying.   Don’t mess with me, Grandma!    I say this because she would mess with me, and she’d love every second of it.  That woman was a little joker, and let’s face it, a little mean.

Also, I get a panicky feeling when I’m in the basement.  Not exaggerating:  I feel like there’s someone there, watching me, going to sneak up behind me, and my gut instinct* is to RUN out of there like my life depends on it.  I really am filled with fear when it comes to the damn basement.  Sadly, that’s where the washer and dryer are.  How long can I go without doing laundry?   That is the question.

*If you have anything to say, please, PLEASE, do not tell me to listen to my instincts.  Tell me it will be ok, and that I’m crazy for feeling this way about a harmless yet totally scary basement.  And maybe stroke my hair while you’re at it?  Thanks.

Clarence Carter be strokin’.