It Might Be Working

Day three of this experiment in curbing my rage and I am feeling pretty dang good.

It could be due the fact that my office was pretty much empty today so I was able to sit in my little corner undisturbed without a single annoying email or phone call. It was like Christmas.

So I guess I really don't know if it is working or not because I didn't have to deal with any real people today. It is quite possible that a single human interaction could have turned me into a ranting banshee. Maybe I should just avoid people. I could go live in a cave.

But it would have to be a pretty nice cave...with heating...and plumbing...and tv and stuff.

A (Late) Resolution for 2011:

Blog more. Bitch less.

Well, not really...since most of this blog is all about ranting and raving, so if you take out the bitching...that would be nothing...kinda like what I posted on this thing in 2010 (Seriously. Two posts?!?)

But maybe...just maybe...if I write it down here I will express less bitterness in my real life. Probably not. But worth a try.

Not a lot has changed since March of last year...just that Boyfriend+ is now Hubby and we moved in with my parents. Weeeeee? :|

Yeah, you heard me. We moved in with my parents...back into the room I had with pink and purple flowers on every surface when I was four years old. And we brought our roommates with us. Six grown adults and two beastly dogs all under one roof. Sound like fun?

It hasn't been as bad as you are imagining...I promise. In fact it hasn't been bad at all. Mom does our laundry for us and we all take turns with dinner. It is almost like a little cooperative commune...without the body odor.

You might ask why we would move out of our perfectly serviceable house as newlyweds and go live with the 'rents. The answer is mostly because we are slobs.

Our house is on the market and basically we can't be trusted not to spill red juice on the white carpet. (Seriously...three separate red juice incidents...it looked like a crime scene up in there).

Well actually our house isn't on the market...but it is sitting there, waiting for that special someone to sweep her off her feet. House is on the rebound since we had the perfect suitor who wooed her and brought her flowers and everything and then BAM! Just days before sealing the deal (and Christmas...the bastard) she was dumped. It was a sad time for all, full of ice cream binges and stuffing cookies into our mouths in darkened corners. Not pretty. But we are all healed now and ready to get out there and SELL THAT HOUSE!

Anyone wanna buy my house? Seriously...I'm a newlywed...living with my parents...with four feet between our bedroom doors...this can only go on for so long.

Honey! I'm Home.

Those who know me well know that I don’t do “domestic.” I may be crafty, which can sometimes be mistaken for domestic, what with the quilting and knitting and stuff, but these are very different characteristics. For example:

Cleaning: If there is a pile of steaming crap in the middle of the floor I might pick it up, but only if it is in my way and really stinky.

Cooking: Why the hell do you think packaged foods were invented?

Dishes: Oh HELL no! Paper plates.

But ever since Boyfriend moved in (yes big step big step) I have been feeling all…domestic-y. Actually, we are both fully embracing the domestic lifestyle. I have never…not one day in my life…made my bed. Bed is made everyday now. I go to the grocery store like 2-3 times a week…wtf…I HATE the grocery store. I cook dinner, I scrub pots, I even thought about cleaning a toilet (don’t worry I didn’t get that crazy).

The other day I putting the laundry in the washer…long before I reached my last pair of undies…and I looked out the window and saw boyfriend mowing the lawn. Gasp…when did I become Mrs. Cleaver…and if that is the case…when do I get to stop working and eat bonbons all day? Hmm?

The Value Of A Dollar

I work in the construction industry. I know all about the value of good estimate. That is why I was shocked…no disgusted…when I recently received a bill that was 636% of the original estimate. Say WHA?!?! Not double...or triple...more than sextuple! I had to look that up because I had never even heard the word for six-fold before for crying out loud.

I want to write more about this subject…but I am unable to express the sheer disbelief that I am feeling in words. I know we are in dire financial shape in this country…but really…is this the type of inflation I should be expecting? Cause if that is the case I should start looking for my sturdy refrigerator box now…all the good homes will be taken if I wait too long.

Pests and Pests Who Kill Them

Like having termites isn’t bad enough. There is nothing more painful to a new homeowner than the T-word. It tears you up inside, you hear them gnawing at night, you wring your hands over the thought of your second story crashing down on your head as you watch Mythbusters. I have suffered this pain twice now in my new home over the past year and a half and have been relatively lucky (knock on uninfested wood) to have only minor damage from the little monsters. But even so…it is moderately distressing, and I think I deserve some sympathy for my plight. But no. Apparently, according to the nastiest exterminator in the world, I do not.

The only time possible for this guy to come dispose of my pests was Monday AND Tuesday between 10 and 5. Good God that is a ginormous time window, I thought to myself, but I arranged to be available on Monday and found someone to be there on Tuesday.

I waited, 10. I waited, 11. I waited, 12 noon! Where is this guy? 12:13 p.m. I hear banging and whistling coming from my backyard. Confused I go out to investigate. There is termite man with one hand and his head stuck in my gate banging on my fence.

Man: *whistle*
Me: Can I help you?
Man: Finally! (under breath…apparently whistling was supposed to get my attention better than, say, ringing my doorbell)
Man: Can you unlock your gate?
Me: It is unlocked…you just have to push
Man: (pushes gate and enters)
Me: Hi
Man: (no eye contact…silence)
Me: I was wondering if you could come into my house and do that part first so that I can leave for work.
Man: No
Me: Umm…ok…well do you know when you might be getting around to that part?
Man: No
Me: Is it going to be today?
Man: Later (shoos me away)

Now, I understand that termite murder may not be fulfilling work, and that the stupid girl asking silly questions might be generally annoying as you drip sweat and brush dirt and insects from you hands, but seriously…what a jerk.

Satan is a Tree

Those of you how know me well, and even those who don’t know me as a bit of a hippie—a tree hugger if you will. I try to steer clear of hurting living things…animals, plants, people. But here is the one time in my life that I truly wish death upon a living thing.*

I WANT MY TREE DEAD!

Awhile back my neighbor approached me with a proposition. My yucky thorny tree was dropping leaves in his pool, so he wanted permission to cut it down and replace it with two new non-devilish trees. Hey why not? He was paying for it and I was pretty sick of sweeping up the leaves on my side of the fence.

His team of tree experts came out and took care of Lucifer and “ground out the stump and removed the roots,” and planted two lovely ornamental pear trees.

So apparently this tree was the devil invegeate because its little shreds of roots went all terminator style on my yard and are coming up everywhere. I have sprouts of this hellish plant 20 feet from the old stump. AHHHHH! I pull and pull and spray and spray but it won’t DIE!

Anyone out there wanna make my little problem go away all quiet like? You know what I mean…whack, hit, burn, clip, ice, pop…make that tree sleep with the fishies…oooo…once you read the asterisk you will realize that was bad choice of words.

R.I.P. Morty.

*alright…there was one other time…high school…a bad fish named Mortimer…but I didn’t kill him…I got someone else to do it…Thanks Bev…you’ve always got my back.