Today was painting and the floor went down
Tomorrow the cabinets go in, so we're getting there...
Thursday
26 June 2014
When this whole kitchen thing is done, I'm going to have a chit load of cleaning to do.
Today was painting and the floor went down
Tomorrow the cabinets go in, so we're getting there...
Today was painting and the floor went down
Tomorrow the cabinets go in, so we're getting there...
Saturday
21 June 2014
The views from my desk right now...
To my left is the gutted kitchen, with this spiffy plastic tarp that was supposed to hold dust in, but let out a whole bunch of it. It carried all the way to the back of the house, which means we're sneezing a lot.
I also get to look at the room o'junk, all the stuff pulled out of the kitchen before demo began. I can see the Cheetos from here, so I have an ongoing case of the munchies.
I am getting zero work done, partly because my work computer spent the week covered to protect it from all the dust, and partly because, while I had my laptop with me, sitting on the bed and trying to reassure the cats that their lives are not over kind of detracts from any real creativity. Also, neither the Spouse Thingy nor I have felt all that great this week; he actually called into work sick one night, and he never calls in sick. We're on the mend, though, so it falls into the NBD category.
But work is progressing. It came to a screeching halt before noon yesterday when the inspector postponed until Monday--the electrical work already done, and where the window was removed have to be checked--and nothing else can proceed until he says so.
Still...lots done.
Under the curtain there is no longer a window...it's been boarded up and there's insulation, which is why the curtain is still there and the board is blocking it from curious kitties.
Towels are blocking any holes in the wall right now, because...Buddah. It looks odd to go in there and have nothing, but without the old cabinets and counters it's also easier to see how it's going to come together.
I'm still grumbling about the cost and nauseated when I think about it, but once it's done it'll be totally worth it. And then we can think about redoing the patio, which is going to be screened in for the cats. That's one I don't want to wait too long to get done, because they're not getting any younger, and I know they'd both love it.
Hell, we probably would have done that first if not for the whole cracking of cabinets and fracture lines in the tile that was going on.
I'll give someone $20 to come clean up all this dust...
Oh, and the cats are fine; Max is seriously chill about the whole thing, and Buddah's only thrown a few temper tantrums, and those are because he wants to go out and snoopervise, not because he's scared. No barfing, no hiding, just some yelling while standing at the screen door by Buddah. I'm pretty sure he just wants to go watch...but they're both fine.
To my left is the gutted kitchen, with this spiffy plastic tarp that was supposed to hold dust in, but let out a whole bunch of it. It carried all the way to the back of the house, which means we're sneezing a lot.
I also get to look at the room o'junk, all the stuff pulled out of the kitchen before demo began. I can see the Cheetos from here, so I have an ongoing case of the munchies.
I am getting zero work done, partly because my work computer spent the week covered to protect it from all the dust, and partly because, while I had my laptop with me, sitting on the bed and trying to reassure the cats that their lives are not over kind of detracts from any real creativity. Also, neither the Spouse Thingy nor I have felt all that great this week; he actually called into work sick one night, and he never calls in sick. We're on the mend, though, so it falls into the NBD category.
But work is progressing. It came to a screeching halt before noon yesterday when the inspector postponed until Monday--the electrical work already done, and where the window was removed have to be checked--and nothing else can proceed until he says so.
Still...lots done.
Under the curtain there is no longer a window...it's been boarded up and there's insulation, which is why the curtain is still there and the board is blocking it from curious kitties.
Towels are blocking any holes in the wall right now, because...Buddah. It looks odd to go in there and have nothing, but without the old cabinets and counters it's also easier to see how it's going to come together.
I'm still grumbling about the cost and nauseated when I think about it, but once it's done it'll be totally worth it. And then we can think about redoing the patio, which is going to be screened in for the cats. That's one I don't want to wait too long to get done, because they're not getting any younger, and I know they'd both love it.
Hell, we probably would have done that first if not for the whole cracking of cabinets and fracture lines in the tile that was going on.
I'll give someone $20 to come clean up all this dust...
Oh, and the cats are fine; Max is seriously chill about the whole thing, and Buddah's only thrown a few temper tantrums, and those are because he wants to go out and snoopervise, not because he's scared. No barfing, no hiding, just some yelling while standing at the screen door by Buddah. I'm pretty sure he just wants to go watch...but they're both fine.
Sunday
15 June 2014
I have a dozen different things I should be doing--there are still things to be moved before Tuesday's kitchen start, plus some cleaning, plus Max's Mousebreath column, plus a book to work on--but instead I've been sitting here looking at porn.
Shuddup. My porn is not like other porn.
I still prefer motorcycle porn.
The thing is, I was all set to sell my bike and be done with riding. But then one night the Spouse Thingy texted me wanting to know the price, because he had someone interested. I told him, and then felt all ooohnoo I'm not done yet.
Then he found out the person who was interested had found another bike and I was all yay!
But...I'm still not keen on jumping on that beautiful, beautiful bike and hitting the highway. I know that half the reason why I avoid it is because it IS a pretty bike; it's the dream bike. If I wreck it, I wreck the pretty. If I park it and it gets trashed or stolen, there's no replacing that exact bike. The paint job alone is unique enough that it can't be replicated, and I'm one of those odd people who can't ruin something that unique. The idea gets into my head--frak this up and you REALLY frak this up--that it affects the way I ride and the urge to ride.
So I mentioned that to a couple friends; one said to ride the shit out of it regardless. It's the dream bike, so get out there and ride the dream.
And she's not wrong.
Another, who sold her bike--not her dream bike, but her daily rider--has many regrets about it. And she thought I needed to really sit back and think about why I've avoided riding other than the risk of ruining the pretty bike. Think back to what I wanted before I saw the pretty bike and caved into the want of Spiffy and Shiny and Beautiful.
What did I say then about what I NEEDED in a bike? Why was I looking to replace the MP3 scooter and the Gladius I was riding? And what is it that goes through my brain when I'm not thinking about how pretty my current bike is?
I needed stability.
Antilock brakes.
A flexible, flickable bike.
Antilock brakes.
Upright seated position--0 to 2 degrees at most.
Antilock brakes.
There's a theme there...I don't completely trust my braking ability and wanted to get off a bike that killed my back (the Gladius was awesome but put me forward in a way that was not good for someone with a bad back) and the scooter had hydraulic issues that made riding it scary.
I was all set to pull the trigger on a BMW, but then went into a bike shop in Concord and lo and behold, there was the sales guy from the shop in Fairfield we used to go to, the guy that had sold me the MP3, the Gladius, and Mike's bike.
Super nice guy.
He showed me a few bikes, and showcased the pretty blue and white bike in the corner; it was custom, right down to the hand-painted pinstriping and hand-painted lettering.
It was the dream bike; the bike I'd had in my head since I was a kid.
So I bought it.
And I loved it. It was PRETTY, dammit.
But I rarely rode it. Granted, I got super sick the summer after getting it, which turned that entire year into not riding because of that, but getting back on it never seemed important. We rode once in a while, around town, to get gas through the lines, but I've had the bike for 3 years now and it has fewer than 2,000 miles on it.
I put 2,000 miles on my first bike in about 3 months.
I put 2,000 miles on my 2nd bike in about a month.
I put over 5,000 miles on the scooter in the first year.
But after getting the Bonneville...nope. I stopped reading much about bikes, stopped visiting bike forums online, stopped reading magazines. I just wasn't excited, and it all boils down to one thing.
I bought the wrong bike.
I bought the dream bike, but that dream was from when I was a kid and has nothing to do with what I need from a bike.
So for the last few weeks I've been poking around the forums, reading articles on motorcycles, and I keep coming back to the bike I was so close to buying before I saw the Pretty.
And I'm excited about the idea of it again.
No, I'm not going to rush right out and buy it. I need to mull it over a little more--not a lot, but a little--and then I need to wait a bit.
For one, I need to sell the Bonneville, but with no regrets because it will be replaced. And we probably need to get through the kitchen remodel.
But, yeah...I really do want to ride. But on the bike I need, not the bike I want.
Shuddup. My porn is not like other porn.
 |
| 2014 BMW F700GS |
The thing is, I was all set to sell my bike and be done with riding. But then one night the Spouse Thingy texted me wanting to know the price, because he had someone interested. I told him, and then felt all ooohnoo I'm not done yet.
Then he found out the person who was interested had found another bike and I was all yay!
 |
| It is soooo pretty... |
So I mentioned that to a couple friends; one said to ride the shit out of it regardless. It's the dream bike, so get out there and ride the dream.
And she's not wrong.
Another, who sold her bike--not her dream bike, but her daily rider--has many regrets about it. And she thought I needed to really sit back and think about why I've avoided riding other than the risk of ruining the pretty bike. Think back to what I wanted before I saw the pretty bike and caved into the want of Spiffy and Shiny and Beautiful.
What did I say then about what I NEEDED in a bike? Why was I looking to replace the MP3 scooter and the Gladius I was riding? And what is it that goes through my brain when I'm not thinking about how pretty my current bike is?
I needed stability.
Antilock brakes.
A flexible, flickable bike.
Antilock brakes.
Upright seated position--0 to 2 degrees at most.
Antilock brakes.
There's a theme there...I don't completely trust my braking ability and wanted to get off a bike that killed my back (the Gladius was awesome but put me forward in a way that was not good for someone with a bad back) and the scooter had hydraulic issues that made riding it scary.
I was all set to pull the trigger on a BMW, but then went into a bike shop in Concord and lo and behold, there was the sales guy from the shop in Fairfield we used to go to, the guy that had sold me the MP3, the Gladius, and Mike's bike.
Super nice guy.
He showed me a few bikes, and showcased the pretty blue and white bike in the corner; it was custom, right down to the hand-painted pinstriping and hand-painted lettering.
It was the dream bike; the bike I'd had in my head since I was a kid.
So I bought it.
And I loved it. It was PRETTY, dammit.
But I rarely rode it. Granted, I got super sick the summer after getting it, which turned that entire year into not riding because of that, but getting back on it never seemed important. We rode once in a while, around town, to get gas through the lines, but I've had the bike for 3 years now and it has fewer than 2,000 miles on it.
 |
| I actually miss this...if only they'd bring it out with ABS... |
I put 2,000 miles on my 2nd bike in about a month.
I put over 5,000 miles on the scooter in the first year.
But after getting the Bonneville...nope. I stopped reading much about bikes, stopped visiting bike forums online, stopped reading magazines. I just wasn't excited, and it all boils down to one thing.
I bought the wrong bike.
I bought the dream bike, but that dream was from when I was a kid and has nothing to do with what I need from a bike.
So for the last few weeks I've been poking around the forums, reading articles on motorcycles, and I keep coming back to the bike I was so close to buying before I saw the Pretty.
And I'm excited about the idea of it again.
No, I'm not going to rush right out and buy it. I need to mull it over a little more--not a lot, but a little--and then I need to wait a bit.
For one, I need to sell the Bonneville, but with no regrets because it will be replaced. And we probably need to get through the kitchen remodel.
But, yeah...I really do want to ride. But on the bike I need, not the bike I want.
Friday
13 June 2014
Oddz & Endz #17,204,742.3 part B
♦ We finally have a start date on the kitchen remodel: next Tuesday. Everything is in place--permits have been filed and issued, the cabinets are in, we picked out the granite for the counters and have bought floor tile, backsplash tile, grout, and new appliances--and we're a little itchy to get it over with.
♦ In order to not freak the cats out all at once we decided to do the things that most affect them one by one. Last week we moved the sideboard from the dining area window to the front room (and they enjoy it there more, since it means they can lounge on it and look out the window) and on another day we set up another water fountain in the back of the house; this morning I moved their crunchy food back there.
♦ What they don't seem thrilled with...the new screen door that separates the front of the house from the back. We figured this gives them the entire back half while the work is being done, and out worries about them being accidentally let out are lessened significantly.
♦ Bets are now being taken on how long it takes Buddah to try to climb the door.
♦ Other bets are being taken as to how long it will take Max to start stress-barfing, and on how many surfaces he'll barf and how often.
♦ Everything should take about 2 weeks to finish...which probably means 3 weeks after it starts it should be finished.
♦ It's going to be loud. I don't like loud.
♦ Maybe I'll hide in the closet with Max.
♦ We finally have a start date on the kitchen remodel: next Tuesday. Everything is in place--permits have been filed and issued, the cabinets are in, we picked out the granite for the counters and have bought floor tile, backsplash tile, grout, and new appliances--and we're a little itchy to get it over with.
♦ What they don't seem thrilled with...the new screen door that separates the front of the house from the back. We figured this gives them the entire back half while the work is being done, and out worries about them being accidentally let out are lessened significantly.
♦ Bets are now being taken on how long it takes Buddah to try to climb the door.
♦ Other bets are being taken as to how long it will take Max to start stress-barfing, and on how many surfaces he'll barf and how often.
♦ Everything should take about 2 weeks to finish...which probably means 3 weeks after it starts it should be finished.
♦ It's going to be loud. I don't like loud.
♦ Maybe I'll hide in the closet with Max.
Sunday
1 June 2014
I’m not a fan of “People of Walmart.” I don’t appreciate the viciousness it engenders, and I don’t see the humor behind it. I am as guilty as anyone else over the occasional amused and bemused Hmffph at some of the images that float out of that particular website, but I seriously dislike the venomous culture it supports.
Face it, I am outside the borders of normal for my age group; perhaps on some level I take it personally. Or maybe I just don’t like looking at someone and snapping to judgment. Or maybe I just don’t like being mean.
If you mock the people who are photographed without consent and slapped up on some website for the world to make fun of…yeah, that’s mean. And that’s why PoW exists: to make fun of people caught unaware, to mock them for not being “beautiful” or because they have their own idea of style and wear what to them is comfortable.
So I’m sitting here in Starbucks, probably putting off my own PoW vibe, and there was a 20-something at the table next to me, making fun of people coming and going, picking on the clothes they wear, the hair styles they’ve chosen, their height to weight ratio: anything and everything seems to be fair game.
I listened to her for a good 15 minutes, trying to ignore, but she’s been a particular kind of loud: stage whispers intended to be heard. None of the people she mocked deserved it. They’re just people going about their personal business on a warm Sunday afternoon, stopping at Starbucks for coffee or tea or whatever else floats their boat.
One woman, close to my age and perhaps a few pounds heavier than I waked past with a cup of whatever and a cookie; 20-something snorted and pseudo-muttered an insult that I’m sure she thought was humorous. Someone else walked past in shorts a little too big and a t-shirt a little too small, and 20-something turned to me, leaned over, and said with a twisted, mock-conspiratorial laugh, “We need a People of Starbucks thing, right?”
I could have pretended to not hear.
I should have pretended to not hear.
Instead, I barely glanced her way and replied in a very-much-not-a-stage-whisper, “Grow up.”
She was offended.
Imagine that.
She left in a huff of pretentious hurt feelings.
Imagine that.
I don’t know if anyone who was the target of her immature slams heard her; no one left here seeming as if they were offended, but I heard her, and I was offended on their behalf.
The whole idea behind People of Walmart is immature and offensive, and I neither understand nor appreciate how popular it is, and how people who otherwise seem perfectly normal and nice find it funny and acceptable.
Look, if you walk past me in a knee length purple dress with pink stripes, a blue hat, yellow Converse high tops, and have a full beard, I’m going to notice. But I will not mock you for it. If you’re of considerable weight and are seated near me in a restaurant and have ordered a huge platter of food, it’s none of my business. If you’re 75 years old and sport earlobes with half-dollar sized gauges and have tattoos all over your neck and half your face, so what?
I don’t know your story; I have no right to judgment beyond curiosity better left unvoiced.
All those who are plastered on PoW…those are people and they freaking have feelings.
Do I regret hurting 20-something’s feelings?
No.
Hypocritical?
Yep.
Do I care?
Nope.
She will survive, and maybe consider those hurt feelings the next time she wants to rag on someone for being different.
Face it, I am outside the borders of normal for my age group; perhaps on some level I take it personally. Or maybe I just don’t like looking at someone and snapping to judgment. Or maybe I just don’t like being mean.
If you mock the people who are photographed without consent and slapped up on some website for the world to make fun of…yeah, that’s mean. And that’s why PoW exists: to make fun of people caught unaware, to mock them for not being “beautiful” or because they have their own idea of style and wear what to them is comfortable.
So I’m sitting here in Starbucks, probably putting off my own PoW vibe, and there was a 20-something at the table next to me, making fun of people coming and going, picking on the clothes they wear, the hair styles they’ve chosen, their height to weight ratio: anything and everything seems to be fair game.
I listened to her for a good 15 minutes, trying to ignore, but she’s been a particular kind of loud: stage whispers intended to be heard. None of the people she mocked deserved it. They’re just people going about their personal business on a warm Sunday afternoon, stopping at Starbucks for coffee or tea or whatever else floats their boat.
One woman, close to my age and perhaps a few pounds heavier than I waked past with a cup of whatever and a cookie; 20-something snorted and pseudo-muttered an insult that I’m sure she thought was humorous. Someone else walked past in shorts a little too big and a t-shirt a little too small, and 20-something turned to me, leaned over, and said with a twisted, mock-conspiratorial laugh, “We need a People of Starbucks thing, right?”
I could have pretended to not hear.
I should have pretended to not hear.
Instead, I barely glanced her way and replied in a very-much-not-a-stage-whisper, “Grow up.”
She was offended.
Imagine that.
She left in a huff of pretentious hurt feelings.
Imagine that.
I don’t know if anyone who was the target of her immature slams heard her; no one left here seeming as if they were offended, but I heard her, and I was offended on their behalf.
The whole idea behind People of Walmart is immature and offensive, and I neither understand nor appreciate how popular it is, and how people who otherwise seem perfectly normal and nice find it funny and acceptable.
Look, if you walk past me in a knee length purple dress with pink stripes, a blue hat, yellow Converse high tops, and have a full beard, I’m going to notice. But I will not mock you for it. If you’re of considerable weight and are seated near me in a restaurant and have ordered a huge platter of food, it’s none of my business. If you’re 75 years old and sport earlobes with half-dollar sized gauges and have tattoos all over your neck and half your face, so what?
I don’t know your story; I have no right to judgment beyond curiosity better left unvoiced.
All those who are plastered on PoW…those are people and they freaking have feelings.
Do I regret hurting 20-something’s feelings?
No.
Hypocritical?
Yep.
Do I care?
Nope.
She will survive, and maybe consider those hurt feelings the next time she wants to rag on someone for being different.
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