Saturday, August 14, 2010

Live-blogging the madness.

Still alive. Trying to organize my work space today, and you guys seem to think I'm hilarious no matter what I'm writing about, so we'll see how this goes. Let me know if you think this is a really bad idea in the comments. You know, if you think it's a really bad idea.

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Have set up my net book on a box, behind a sewing machine (am reaching over sewing machine to type while standing) in the lair. Beside me is the loom I found last week in a box labeled "yarn spinner". All the heddles are ripped off, a pawl is missing, and I get pissed off every time I look at it.

Goober has informed me the room is "Dirty and stuff". Thanks, kid. No shit. Glad you're here to tell me these things.

Working at clearing off work bench so I can build a ribbon rack at the back of it, then re-clutter it up again. Right. On that.

Now I remember what I wanted the hook for at the hardware store earlier today. Did I buy it then? No. Because I couldn't remember what I wanted it for. (To hang knitting bags on. Putting it here so maybe next time I WILL DAMN WELL REMEMBER.)

Hey, all you people I've owed boxes to for the last year? I just found them. Beating my head on a wall for a while...

Meanwhile, Julie, thinking of herself in the third person, contemplates getting seriously drunk.

Gee, I bet I could put stuff away on that shelf IF THERE WASN'T ALL KINDS OF SHIT PILED IN FRONT OF IT.

Surface of work bench located. Right. Finding pencil and tape measure.

MOTHERFUCKING COBWEBS I SWEPT YOU UP LAST WEEK MOTHERFUCKERS.

And then there was a noise. Sounded like someone drilling through the wall. Oh. Wait. IT IS THE HUSBEAST DRILLING THROUGH THE WALL.

Still looking for pencil and tape measure. The stuff I don't need yet for this project is, of course, right in front of me.

Child begging for food. Would tell her to have cat food, but she'd actually eat it. DRAMA. WE HAZ IT.

Oh, look. Dead carpet beetles. I HOPE YOU DIED SCREAMING YOU LITTLE BASTARDS!

Eyeballing some measurements. Yes, indeed. That always ends well. Learned that from knitting.

Now off to find out if the husbeast has located the miter box yet. And argue with him over power tools and spade bits and these HIGHLY ACCURATE measurements.

Child's life threatened for playing with light switches.

More drilling through the wall. The fun never ends.

BUT THE LAVA LITE IS UNPACKED AND ON SO I AM UNPACKED GODDAMN IT.

Husbeast is laughing at my choice of safety footwear: Pink Vans with skulls on them. He, Mr. Drill-Through-The-Wall, is barefoot. The term 'idiot' is not used by either party. Though it very well should be.

Miter box completely worthless. Used the saw without. Sawdust everywhere, including inside the toolbox I dumbassedly forgot to close before sawing. Length of board, perfect. I'm gonna cling to that. Next, the power tools. Specifically, a cordless drill. It seems I have my own.

Husbeast through cleaning the garage; that sounds like a fine time to go out there and drill some more holes.

Large holes drilled. Bolt holes and guide holes drilled next.

Broke a nail. A fingernail. FUCK.

Bent a drill bit. Husbeast grudgingly impressed.

Eyeballed measurement NOT EXACT. I am shocked. SHOCKED.

Hammer has fixed above problem.

Husbeast helping. First thing heard: sound of splintering wood, followed by "oops". FUCK.

Silence from that end of the work shop. This is a fine time for me to do another load of mildewed laundry from the clothes that were in storage.

"SON OF A BITCH!"

Shouting at child. In unison. Ah, togetherness. The romance never dies. (Above profanities were not shouted at child. They were just shouted.)

"Do you have a lot of these wood screws?"

Still mildew on bathrobe. Overwhelming urge to drive to Charleston and slap the shit out of people.

"If you got rid of all these books, you'd have room for all kinds of stuff." And yet, I let him live. A fine example of my generosity of spirit.

Houston, we have Shop Vac.

"Are you making a blog post out of this whole thing?" "Yes." "You fucker. Make sure to tell them I got your butt with the Shop Vac." My butt was gotten with the Shop Vac.

Husbeast now scaring Sekhmet with said Shop Vac. He's laughing now, but will he laugh at three AM when she jumps on his head? NO.

First person who asks me to cook dinner, dies.

My arm hurts. Gee. I bet NOBODY saw that coming.

Et voila.


One step closer to organized.

All sarcasm aside, without the husbeast's help, I'd be upstairs in the bedroom, laying down with a heating pad and serious painkillers. Instead I'm down here laughing and thinking "gee, my arm hurts". So.

Tomorrow is another day. Maybe then I'll find the floor of the living room.

18 comments:

Galad said...

Progress is being made while I'm sitting on my ass reading blogs. If I'm not careful I might actually get inspired to organize something :-)

Roxie said...

Ribbon rack rocks! You are awesome.

When you drive south and slap shit out of stupid suckers, be sure to get the video. I would pay money to watch that one. The articulately foul tongue-lashing would be worth the price of admission.

missleya said...

You. Are. Awesome. <3

Alwen said...

That was pretty awesome, actually.

My verification word is a word! Strap. Is that even allowed?

Emily said...

Yeah. I agree. Awesome.

My ex once was drilling a hole in an apartment wall, the one that separated the kitchen from the living room. I was washing dishes, when I heard him gasp & run out of the room. Then he ran back into the kitchen & out again.When he returned, he gasped, "I can see the living room!"

"Well, yeah, you were just there,' I said.

Turns out he meant he could see it thru the hole he'd just drilled. Home handyman was not one of his gifts.

Be grateful for the Husbeast. Seriously.

Barbara said...

Oh, there you are! Whew, I was getting worried that you'd fallen and couldn't get up.

I'd pay money to watch you bitch slap the rat bastards who let all your stuff get broken and mildewed. Cash money. Or I'll sell the popcorn in the bleachers while all your fans cheer you on.

You gotta love a man who can smile after you bend his drill bits.

Leonie said...

See we love the incidentals of life especially on those days when there are attempts at home handiness. Your ribbon rack looks fab and you definitely married the right man, he's a keeper.

Anonymous said...

Glad you didn't fall off the earth... was beginning to worry about that. Hope you took pictures of the damage... nothing like prominent internet reviews for bad companies! I know... govt., but they probably subcontracted it. Your post was hysterical, btw. My verification word is... odure. hmmmm. Deb

Betsy said...

So, situation normal at your house (and mine too for that matter...luckily without the small child)...most excellent...sounds like permanence to me.

BTW, Barbara...I have my own drill bits...they're in much better shape and findable than my husbeast's...

Louiz said...

Sounds like you're getting there. To remove mildew, you could try (not guaranteeing it will work) putting stuff through the machine with white vinegar - I do promise it will not smell of vinegar but it might help shift the mildew smell.

judy said...

Was worried about you. Where is Schmet during all this?

David said...

pretty ribbons

David said...

(oh, and you can make a claim against the moving company)

Amy Lane said...

LOLOLOL... I can't wait to see the chaos clear, but in the meantime? You and the Husbeast keep on doing things in unison... laughing, yelling at the kid, having a good, exciting, PRODUCTIVE life... you know. That sort of shit.

Nicole said...

Well, I thought it was a hoot. Never a dull moment at your house!

PICAdrienne said...

Glad to know you are alive, and progressing, even if well may be out of the picture.

Goob should be happy you did her room before you did your room.

ellen in indy said...

yes, but it's purposeful, CREATIVE madness you're live-blogging, and that's gotta count for a lot.

congratulations on the lovely ribbon rack -- much crafty goodness is yet to come.

Roz said...

This was worth the wait.