The · Teaparty

I woke up today to a series of thumps. Never a good thing in a house with four animals. When I looked into the kitchen, three sets of eyes were pointedly staring at the fridge. Typical.No you're not getting fed, you know you... wait, didn't I say four animals? Crap. So yeah, I spent the first part of my morning in my kitchen, naked, wrestling with a fridge and trying not to squish Meringue.

Phone Rings
Me: Hello?
Lady: Hi, yes, can I please have Alex McChicken-koff?



Whoo. I thought I was going to pass out I was laughing so hard.

(for the record, his last name is Mitchenkov)

I did not realize that I did not announce that I was beginning another journal. I've been meaning to explore ways to get the posts here for you to read, but it hasn't been high on my priority list because I figured anyone interested would have come to read. Oops.

Anyhow, for the curious, you can find me at http://homespunheretic.wordpress.com. Hope to see you there.

Things have been a little stressed around the house lately, but last night we had a bit of healthy catharsis. Pat and I were in bed wailing with laughter about mythical creatures called "Squonk Oxen."

Squonk Oxen were born in mad giggling fits, somehow developed from a discussion on Musk Oxen, then to Skunks, and then to Squirrels. Apparently, Squonk Oxen are the size and shape of musk oxen, with the spraying ability of a skunk that size, but they are arboreal like squirrels, and share their mannerisms most closely--except they have four dextrous hands like monkeys-- but that taxonomically speaking, they are most closely related to sloths. We determined that they must have originated around the time Alaska was covered in palm trees.

Imaginative hijacks ensued, as we first substituted the Squonk oxen for the squirrels living in his mother's back yard. It got really silly when we mentioned the elusive flying squonk ox, and how they would silently stalk his dad's car. Things turned more serious, as we imagined the terrible aftermath of electrocuted squonk oxen falling from electricity wires, much like squirrels do in southern regions.

One further note about Squonk Oxen: they are all orthodox Jewish, so if you put out suet in the winter, please make sure it is kosher.

We got back from our honeymoon early Sunday morning, and by that evening my new husband had to go to the ER with a scary infection and abscess. He’s been on intravenous antibiotics as well as two other oral antibiotics. He’s finally getting better, but it’s been a long week.

Will update more fully when we get internet at home.

We've been looking at apartments on short notice, trying to see if we can find something before the honeymoon to simplify our living arrangements. To further those ends, I posted an ad on craigslist detailing our situation and our needs. A man answered me with this great e-mail:

Basic House...two VERY small bedrooms, small kitchen, small living room, small bathroom, small doors, small windows...and small price.

He wasn't kidding. The place is teensy. It was built sometime in the fifties, and every scrap of space has been used. It reminds me of my friend's 450 year old farmhouse that had twenty rooms and sprawled out all over the place and everything was different and mismatched and just odd--except this place has stayed entirely within it's original shell. I love it's crazy quirkiness! I came home squeaking with excitement over how cool the house was, and how cool the landlord was, and how Patrick had to be the one to say yes or no because I was totally in love with the place.

We were supposed to meet with the landlord (Burt) tonight, but he called and said he forgot he had a parent teacher conference and we could just drop by and pick up the key and walk ourselves through it and get back to him. After picking up the key, we drove over, and Pat thought it was pretty neat. Needed some cleaning and some work, but the benefits outweighed the drawbacks.

It's in a slightly scary part of town. But it's cheap. And private. And it's bigger than an apartment. It doesn't have a dishwasher, but it's got a washer and dryer. And it's actually got three bedrooms, though they're all about the size of jail cells. There's no bathtub, and the bathroom is carpeted, but the kitchen is big enough for our table. It's on almost a quarter-acre lot, well grassed, with some trees and some mountain views and we are allowed to build a fence if we want. We can paint and garden and make as many improvements as we like. We can have our pets with no problems. We can't tear down walls, and we can't take down the wallpaper in the kitchen, but beyond that we're free to do whatever we want, except make drugs or fight dogs. Oh, and it's about a ten minute walk from Pat's work. Plus, I love it!

He called after his meeting and we gave him a verbal yes. The terms are more than reasonable, and he said we can move in right away, though rent won't start until the 15th and we don't have to put the utilities into our name until after we get back from the honeymoon. We still have to work out a lease agreement and we have yet to sign anything, but I anticipate it to be a fairly painless process. It's exciting!

More to come.

There was someone on my FL from a looong time ago that was talking about their experiences with the AlphaSmart stuff, probably the 3000 vs the newer models. I'm curious what your (and anyone elses) thoughts are on them.

I traded my laptop for a desktop because "I never schlepped my laptop anywhere" and then realized oholyfuck, I really DID take it places, and I'm really inconvenienced without an easy way to type away from my computer room.

I write longhand quite a bit, but when I have huge brain infodumps I have an easier time organizing it in text.

Any thoughts?

We decided that looking for an apartment was going to be the best strategy, and if we didn't find one before the wedding, well, we didn't find one and we'll look when we get back as per the original plan.

Work is not nearly as busy as yesterday was, so I spent the morning going through the paper. It's amazing how easy it is to narrow places down when you have pets.

What we're looking for is a quiet place closer to Pat's work (as my school is centrally located), cheaper than our last apartment, with some or all of the utilities included, a place with a washer and drier or hookups, and will take our two cats and will allow us to get a puppy.

Might as well ask for the moon.

Solution? Turn to the Mooninites!

( Read more... )

Wish me luck!

For those unfamiliar with our housing situation, we quit our apartment and we're sort of "renting" my mother's boyfriend's house, where we will be having our wedding.

So late last night my mother called to ask if we would like to barbecue for dinner today. We are scheduled to visit Pat's family after I get off of work, so that was not possible, but she said they'd drop by on Saturday anyway.

The last time they dropped by on short notice, I called Pat and asked him to do an emergency cleaning of the house: I was at work, and things were still in a shambles from moving over there. He cleaned, it looked great, my mother laughed and said it was no big deal if things were messy, she understands that we are really busy.

So we knew Pat would have to be doing another cleaning before they showed up in the late afternoon as I would be at work, but we didn't think anything of it. They called me at about 9:30 this morning to let Pat know that they were almost over there. Christ. Pat was still in bed, and had about five minutes until they arrived.

So Pat gets out of bed and gets dressed, and they come in the garage, leaving it open, while they do whatever it was they needed to do. My mother immediately spots a pile of cat puke on the hardwood that happened sometime during the night. Pat cleans it up, and by the time he's done, he realizes that one of our cats is missing. They'd left the door to the garage open, and Boo was no where to be found. Pat asked them if they'd seen her, they said they hadn't, and then he drops everything to look for her, and he calls me in a panic after they leave.

While he's telling me the distressing news--made even worse by the fact that she's super skittish, is not an outdoor cat, and is in a new location--my mother calls with that "bad news" voice and asks me to call her back when I'm on my way to the valley. I forcibly convince her to tell me now, as I'd be driving and the office was dead, and she starts in by how embarrassed and disappointed she was that we were not taking better care of the house, since he's letting us stay there for nearly nothing, and then she just trailed off with "I don't know what else to say..." before saying the same stuff over and over.

Needless to say, I'm already embarrassed by the state of the house, and I let it go because of finals week and because SHE HAD SAID SHE UNDERSTOOD WE WERE BUSY AND IT DIDN'T MATTER IF THE HOUSE WAS PICKED UP!

I'm angry at her for being so two-faced about it, but mostly because when I asked her about the cat, she basically dismissed the fact that Boo was out, said they wouldn't help look, and that the cat would be back, like it was not a big deal.

Pat finally found Boo, but I'm still angry.

It really makes me want to find an apartment before our wedding.

I am luxuriating in doing nothing. Finals are over. My wedding is in two weeks, and the most complicated thing I have yet to do is to go cheesecake tasting.

I'm back to cooking again, sort of. I made pad thai the other night, perfect blender salsa last night, and today, it's one of my favorite simples, Brussels sprouts in soy sauce.

In order to stay on top of school, I've had to put off thinking and doing everything. I was really stressed a couple of weeks ago at all the stuff I had to juggle, and then, well, I just let it go. I decided that thinking about all the stuff I had to do wasn't going to be worth it in the long run, and so I haven't. And it's like a thousand pounds were lifted off of my shoulders. Granted, it's caused small problems like the fact that I still need to cancel our utilities at the old apartment, but who cares? Nothing is being used there, and I can afford 10 dollars for peace of mind.

Now I've come back to the rest of my life to find a delightful string of things awaits me. I'm getting married in two weeks. I get to plan and to go on a frikkin' awesomespectactular honeymoon (not sure if the planning or the going is more fun!). Then I get to come back and look for a new place to live! Once we are settled after the move, then I get to start looking for a puppy (dear god... did we really decide to get a puppy?). My major is switched, so nothing but great classes await me, including a painting class this fall. We're thinking about taking a trip to Canada sometime around Thanksgiving. And that brings us right to the holidays, which are guaranteed to be, well, jolly. I've never been so excited about a six month spread before!

Right, and did I mention that I'm getting married? And getting a new apartment? And a puppy? Wow! My life rocks!

Wedding plans are going smoothly, it's just everything else that isn't. The latest and greatest complication is that I had an an eye emergency on Tuesday. I went into the clinic where I got my contacts last fall, and the doc is out, but the tech who owns the place takes a look at my eyes and my contacts and tells me that I've got a long string of cyclical issues with my eyes, and that the first step is for me to leave my contacts out for two to three weeks.

This is the Pronouncement of Ultimate Doom in my book. I've needed glasses since I was seven or so, but I've had contacts since I was eleven or twelve because my glasses give me vertigo. The distorted vision, falling down stairs and hurting myself when I try to carry objects sort of vertigo. I don't even have a remotely current set of eyewear. I. just. don't. wear. glasses. So that means that the only time I'm without my contacts is when I'm in bed. As operant conditioning would have it, after having held to this pattern for over half my life, not being able to see well makes me instantly sleepy! Like drugs!

Here's the scoop: My eyes are putting out a lot of protien, and my contacts are sucking it up and becoming cloudy: basically my eyes are destroying new contacts in about 12 hours. This irritates the inside of my eyelid, which rubs and irritates my eyes at night when my contacts are out. When I put my contacts in they act as a bandage, and my eyes feel better BUT occasionally an irritated eyelid will make my contact not fit due to compression and pulling and whatnot and then my contact will roll crazily around my eye and scratch my eye up further with the protien. As it stands, the protective coating on my eyes has basically been sandpapered off and I have abraded eyeballs. Lovely. so 99% of the time, the contacts make my eyes feel better, and 1% of the time one of them will hurt like hell and I can't see. 100% of the time, when my contacts are out, my eyes hurt. So you can see why I'm even more reluctant to be without my contacts.

This PoUD(tm) resulted in me needing to order an emergency set of glasses. I picked out a frame and they called me two days later to come pick them up. The first day I spent in bed sightless until I remembered where my old glasses were, and then I waited some more until Pat got home because I couldn't *see* them. I'm very blind. I mean, I lost a fucking BANANA on a black countertop because I couldn't tell where I set it down, if that gives you any idea. The glasses I found are from several prescriptions ago, and I can see passably well, but it's been quite the experience trying to adapt to everything. The vertigo? Still there, but mitigated somewhat by the fact that they're older glasses. I'm still missing stairs an awful lot, but I'm adapting.

The new glasses? Well, they came in and the left lens was waaaay off. As in, the doors were all trapezoidal shaped rather than rectangular. After an hour-long round of frame adjustments, I was sent home with them with the instructions to try them fresh in the morning and to see if that helped and to keep wearing the old ones in the interim. The next morning? Um, no. Not any better. Plus, Patrick didn't like the frames I had picked out, and really, out of the shop, neither did I. The guy at the shop made me an appointment to see the opthamologist (who was much less corpse-like and more grandfatherly this time) and I spent an hour down there with both of us frustrated and puzzled by not being able to figure out what was wrong. He changed a few numbers and sent me back over to the shop to order different lenses out of a different material. I even got to pick out new frames with no restocking fee. They should be back Tuesday or Wednesday and all I can say is that THANK GOD I had the backup pair. I could NOT afford to be out a whole week of school/work/moving/wedding planning this late in the game.

So my abraded eyeballs are slowly healing, my eyelids are becoming less inflamed, and Patrick thinks I look sexy in glasses. This has been a pain in the ass (eyes?) but in the end things will be better.

The Plan, with updated revisions:

Transfer in my 90-some-odd credits to UAA.
Transfer in my 60-some-odd credits to UAA.

Finish my degree in one two three(!!!) years.

Declare English Major
Get fucked over by English Department.
Get teacher certification for secondary school.

Declare English Major education track.
Get fucked over by English Department.
Get fucked over by English Department.
Get fucked over by English Department.
(Where the hell are my strikethroughs?)
Get fucked over by English Department.
OMFG!!! CHANGE MAJOR!!111!!

Declare History Major.
Finish school in 1.5 years.
Get a masters to teach secondary school.
Get teacher certification for primary school.
Substitute teach until I have my babies and stay home.

I've always been fascinated by the "people" that live inside of us. Stephen King uses these inner voices to great effect in many of his stories, and I've always loved it. I'm usually quite entertained at the many voices that speak up inside of me. I used to worry about some thoughts, because of the ever popular "even thinking it is a sin" business. That one tore me up, because I felt I was basically a good person, but then there were these thoughts, and man, what's going to happen to me? A horrendously paraphrased quote that has given me great relief is "Good or Evil is not determined by what goes on inside your head, but is dictated by your actions." I mean, that laid to rest these sorts of conversations:

Impartially Curious Inner Voice: I wonder what would happen if I stuck this pencil in his eye.
Common Sense Inner Voice: Well, that wouldn't be very nice. But if you *were* to do it, here's a list of the probable outcomes...
Freaky Zion Cultural More Gymteacher Inner Voice: You're sinning! In your head! Murderer! Foul Beast! SINNING! A SIN! A MORTAL SIN!! Burning forever! BURRRRRRRRRRRRRNNNNNN.....

Thank god I put her to rest. She was exhausting, but pretty present for a number of years. I no longer obsess over whether or not I'm actually apt to push that man off the train platform, or fling myself off of a building, or whatever, just because Impartially Curious Inner Voice says "what if?"

A few weeks ago I received Henriette Klauser's "Writing on Both Sides of the Brain." I've been slowly picking at it, laughing at the silliness of some parts, and the utter usefulness of others. Sometimes they are both, and I just have to get over the induced eyerolling of the presentation in order to take advantage of them. ( Read more... )

I need some help.

Pat and I are going to be celebrating our honeymoon on the east coast, and we are going to be in NYC for a few days at the end of May, partly so that I can take him to see the Lion King.

The ticket sites are all pretty shady, and I'm pretty sure they're all trying to rip me off for partial view tickets, and the whole "we'll deliver the week of the show" isn't going to work since, you know, we won't be at home.

Can someone in-the-know give me some tips to get decent tickets? Or at least which ticket seller I should be going through?

I'm also looking for volunteers to host a night out for us. Good food, and friendly faces is all we ask. Except for maybe liquor; that is not a request. We'll be in NY (on times square for FREE BITCHES!!!) Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday (and a little of Wednesday as well) the 25-28th of May.

Let me know!

I don't receive the newspaper, but every other weekend I am, among other things, a newspaper coraller at my job. Each day, I am responsible for the two new papers in their reassuring orange sleeves, and the shark-attacked remnants of the two old ones. Today I was astonished to find the usual orange bags replaced with thick white ones seemingly advertising mattresses, or hookers, I couldn't tell. The truth was much more disturbing.

It was a sweepstakes for Advil PM, including FREE SAMPLES. On the Sunday paper, quite prominently displayed in a little paper plaquard. Yes, that's right, the newspaper was distributing narcotics to the general public! Any enterprising four year old with a pair of safety scissors or a good set of teeth could have gotten into these packets. I am just aghast at this, and I hope that there is enough similar outrage to ensure that nothing like this ever happens again.

Yesterday I saw a car that was puffing bright blue smoke rings! Not great for the car, but it was awesome to see. Made me wish I had my camera: a wish that is no longer tinged with bitterness. I found my camera on Sunday night. I lost it just before Thanksgiving, and I have torn my house apart on three different occasions looking for it. I had just bought it not a month before and I had taken only a dozen pictures with it. It turns out that I had put it in the pocket of a winter coat I bought out of desperation, then decided I didn't need to wear a coat, so I hung it back up. I bought a new coat the following day, and never wore the other coat again. I pulled it out this weekend to wear and lo and behold: camera!

It helped considerably. I've been making do with the camera in my Razor, and its limitations are frustrating. I had an art project that I needed to do, but I was having trouble with the pose I had chosen. With the camera found, I could finally bring my sister over for a photo shoot. This was a very quick picture about three hours away from completion, but you get the idea.

Rainy Day at Atherton Hall:

This is my first foray into colored pencils in probably seven or eight years. It's been a long time, and I've forgotten many of the basics (including apparently, what color cast shadows are, and how to do skin tones...) but I had a lot of fun with this one.

So Patrick hasn't checked his mail in a long time, and he had pages and pages of memorable P3N15 spam, advertising how inches could be added today for her pleasure and your ego, or your money back!

One was titled simply and bafflingly:

PheobeCockBouffant

Patrick gave me my ginormous box of chocolates last night, because he couldn't wait. The look of profound disappointment on his face when I opened it and we saw it was individually wrapped squares of Ghirardelli chocolates instead of "chocolatey truffle things" made me want to laugh and comfort him at the same time. *I* was quite thrilled, and pointed out that they'll keep for a good long time. He all but stamped his foot with petulance and said "but they're supposed to be eaten up quickly, that's the point! I'll just have to go get you some more."

I am so glad we're getting married.

Patrick, displaying the profound disappointment look: