cleanliness and a peeping spock

Have been preparing for the young houseguest. Without extra hands to help, the morning's cleaning looked like this:

Sprayed out the cat shower (this being the hissing, spitting, unused shower in the small bathroom, which the cats have taken to dropping small animals into as a gladiator arena); Leif dug his hands into the litter box and fished for poo to paint with.

Got up on a stool and swept dust off the ceiling fans, which fell in thick ribbons as if they were being disemboweled; Leif dumped an entire bag of goldfish crackers onto the rug and bashed them into crumbs with a Hess truck.

Washed dishes; Leif emptied the pan cupboard and dumped cat water into them to make soup with a mangled banana.

Determined that in order to save the house, cleaning needed to stop. It is far less messy to do some cookie-baking with the tot, play with blocks, and lay around reading board books in front of Food Network. Maybe I will hide dollars around the house, and make the big kids clean up to find them.

Oh, Nimoy

How have I gone this long without mentioning Spock? He's a daily delight/sensation of lurking horror: a life-sized cutout who lives in the landlord's house, peering out the window to keep vigil over the parking lot and terrorize the smokers on those paranoid days.

See him there, that blue thing?



Someone thought it would be extra fun to put christmas lights in his eyes. That has landed me flailing in the bushes by the car on more than one night. You'd think I would eventually remember that it's just Spock, but no, each time I go a'flailing all over again. Evidently giant men with glowing blue eyes are not something we are naturally equipped to accept.

To-do list, slightly diminished

I have been meaning to re-cover the chair pads for a while. Spurred by the need to impress a 10-year-old, I finally did it.

Before and after:


Oh, look. Spock is happy.

Only now I'm noticing that the pattern looks like a sort of landing strip for the ol' bumoley and hoo-ha. Now I'll never be able to un-see it. Thanks, creepy flowers.

I also managed to start a few blocks for a new couch quilt. I was going to show them off by pretending they were shotgun wounds, but then the infink tried to smother me with a head-shop tapestry.



Two boys and a 10 year-old girl. I am going to need a lot more cherry bourbon.


edited to add: while baking cookies, Leif accidentally smashed a glass. While I was cleaning up the glass, he dumped a bottle of water into the cookie dough. I drained it out and baked it anyway.

Spiders included for free

Yes, I still do stuff.

The spiderweb monstrosity is ready for trimming, binding, and foisting.



Look, an action shot. It's a terrible yoga mat. Which is fine, because it's a baby blanket.

Hearsty Mashup

Today's entry written by guest author William Randolph Hearst


STILL, WARY LIBRARIAN. Her Gaze Passes Over the Hungry Worshippers of Myspace, Alighting on a Stack of Ponderous Tomes Adorned with Scrolling Font, Pugnacious and Alluring. Seized by a Moment of Abandon She Plucks Up a Book of Love Poems, Clutching it with a Silent Plea for Some Piercing Words to Ignite Her Soul. She Opens at Random, With Unruly Hope, and Reads:

Maybe - though I do not bleed - I am wounded,
walking
along one of the rays of your life.
In the middle of the jungle the water stops me,
the rain that falls with its sky.

She Stares Dismayed. The Book Flies Suddenly Across the Desk with Savage Fury, and the Librarian Tosses Her Hair Tempestuously. Oh, Shut Up, Book --- She Thinks to Herself --- For Last Night I Dreamed I Was Cradled in the Protective Embrace of My Long Absent Lover, Come For Me at Last --- Bumblebee the Transformer. Suck it, Pablo Neruda.

Technical difficulties

You know what is more dangerous than having a blog? Just about anything. Especially when you work with the public, and that public doesn't like paying .25 cent late fines or having to actually have a library card to check out books. Summer is the peak of hobo season, and they are all hot and cranky. This morning we had a staff-time sparring session with the lock-down bar, exchanging tips like, "Aim to swing through their head!" and "Jam it in the solar plexus!" Library folk look nice and fluffy, but we'll cut a bitch.*

Melvil Dewey, 1876

Diet update: gained another half a pound. Have begun dumping powdered old-person fiber supplement ("Now without grit!" - must have cut down on the powdered old-person) into, well, everything. Soup, oatmeal, rice, coffee. Turns out that the little note on the side of the jar that says "not recommended for carbonated beverages" actually translates into "will make your soda violently explode". Begs the question: are Mentos made of old-person?

Tuesday is Tuesdaying on.

*Actually, no, probably not.

not going great and am not happy

In which we are all in jr. high school again.



Let's do bullets for this one:

* Noticed last week that Mr. Downstairs, after verbally abusing his pregnant girlfriend and then screaming at their newborn, was having another woman sleep over while girlfriend and baby were out of town. Seemed shady, but could have been his sister or something, right? At least it was quiet for a change.

* Was still punchy on Thurs about Dance Class Girl resurfacing, and heard neighbor return, to minor squabbling. Happened to be on computer, and noted on assfacebook that I hoped she knew about the visitor. Mentioned no names, deleted it about an hour later, but someone had already had a scandalized joyride figuring it out and calling everyone in creation to squee in mock-horror about it, including Ms. Downstairs.

* Received badly structured "don't talk shit about us" message from Ms. Downstairs. Replied with a "sorry about that, and also your boyfriend is an asshole" message. Am a respectably employed knitting-type person who doesn't do drugs, one of the benefits of which is that the cops like me and wave hello. Am not afraid of abusive partying drug addicts who scatter like roaches when they see flashing lights.

*Am, however, afraid of paranoid schizophrenics. Came home after a long day in town to a late-night phone call from the Apocalypse guy. He asked if I had heard anyone talking about him or his kids, I said I had not (which is true, haven't even thought of him myself since the dinner thing a few months ago). He said he had heard someone say that his baby was tiny, and had got on the phone and threatened to kill them and the cops were all over his house because of it. I suggested that was a bad idea, he said, "That's your opinion, people have to be prepared to pay the consequences for what they do". I suggested that was what was happening if you threatened to kill people, he said, "That's your opinion." First clue that rational thinking is not present. He deflected with a question about a library book, which I answered and then said goodnight. He called back immediately to talk to Mike, as "the man", and told him that when I came over for that Dinner of Doom a few months ago, I had called their newborn baby "tiny", and he'd better make sure his woman didn't talk about them anymore (OH NOES I AM TALKING ABOUT IT RIGHT NOW AND I AM A WOMAN HAAALP). Mike suggested that newborn babies are tiny and it's usually a normal observation, but the guy said he would get me fired and went into yell-over-other-person mode and then politely told Mike to have a nice night. Am going to have a nice morning at the police station instead.

* Have not noticed any local readers to my blog, but am shutting it closed for now, just in case. People are too bored out here, and I will turn into the next Us magazine and people will whisper in scandal about my yarn choices.

Ok, so this has all led to some agitation, locked doors, and not a few thoughts about Mike running half-naked out of the bedroom with the broadsword to hack up an intruder, a la Jamie Fraser. (Oo-er) No word on the status of my transfer request, but I may push the notion just a bit.

Memorial Day

The boy-child has been mailed to his grandmother for a few weeks, leaving us to linger in the doorway of his empty bedroom with a feeling that we have misplaced something really important. Leif is happy to have finally done away with the older brother, and has been doing pirouettes of joy and punching his fists into the air with a triumphant, "YEAAH!" Boy, will he be surprised when Gavin comes back in 3 weeks with an entire extra kid. More on that development later.

The man returned from the airport on Friday with a bottle of Costco vodka. He carried it around like a baby for about half an hour, drank a bit of it, became addled with delight (and, you know, vodka), and ended up baking a coconut cake, which he frosted with a steak knife.

Kirkland vodka: possible side effect

Sunday was a day of firsts. First poop in the potty (Leif's). First grey hair (the man's). First day of weigh-ins (145 & 164 lbs), yoga (20 minutes before Leif started knocking us over like lawn ornaments), and jogging/strolling/running from pit bulls, to start off this year's round of oh-shit-it's-summer-already fitness mania. Also, unrelated, I got to see the neighbor pee under our window.

But best of all: the new batch of homebrew was ready. This time around, Mike diluted a few bottles just for me, which knocked the Honey-Vanilla Ale to about 4 percent alcohol, down from just over 9 percent and SWEET JUMPING JESUS IT IS THE GREATEST BEER IN THE WORLD. My thanks to the three jumbo honey bears who gave their lives for this brew.

Why I don't care that he can't pronounce 'monogamy'.

The weekend was just about every kind of fantastic. I even got cussed out by a family of mongoose, in surly-enchanted-woodland-creature manner.



In the evening we lit the grill, put on some music, taught the infink to play rummy, enjoyed a cold pint, and debated the people we would most enjoy punching in the face. Intellectuals and sophistocates are we.