My own life continues dull and uninteresting, so I offer Stuff About My Cats.

( I know. I KNOW.  )

Little bit of funny:

I stopped into my old B&N to start getting ideas for Christmas, and to browse the used books. Ended up chatting with a few people (not long enough with you, adrienne429; what gives with you being conscientious and helping customers rather than shoot the breeze with me? sheesh. :P) and spending far, far too long wishing I still had my discount.

In the time I was in the store, I was asked twice by booksellers to help with a customer recommendation, and paged once to call a specific extension. Which I totally did, by the way. And no one took any notice of me picking up a store phone and helping myself. hee!

Part of me really, REALLY misses working there. It's easy to forget that it was Retail first, Bookselling second (or third or fourth). It's easy to forget that there were problems with management, with favoritism, with scheduling. Easy to forget being expected to do the work of three people because you would, would rather work yourself to injury and exhaustion than not do A Good Job.

Not so easy to forget that I was so plugged in. I knew what was coming, had ready access to ARCs, and kept a keen eye on what came into the store every day I was there. I had fellow book lovers to talk to. I was pretty darned good with the school groups; there were MAJOR gift card sales because of my presentations to the kids (which, by the way, I compiled on my own time). I was seriously good at matching people with books.

I'd think about going back for a couple of shifts a week. Really, I would. But it would have to be on my terms, my schedule, and they'd never go for it. Ah, well. They don't know what they're missing.

Not sure wherefore the dearth of posts lately, but I hereby swear that is about to change.

Maybe.

Thing is, it all hinges on me having something interesting to say. Or a book to beg for. Or a home improvement project. Right now, all I've got is an incontinent hermit kitty and a slightly-less-wonky-than-it-was shoulder. Gripping stuff, to be sure, but not necessarily blog-worthy.

Singing Pirate gig tomorrow. Here's hoping it's hilarious/adorable/disastrous/glorious/fraught with intrigue!

The ARCs of Megan Whalen Turner's A Conspiracy of Kings have hit the streets. I'm throwing pride to the wind and begging: if any of you so connected can procure a copy for me, I promise to do something very nice for you in return.

I'll bake you cookies. I'll cook dinner. Want a lesson in basic swordplay? Done. A free kickboxing class? No problem. A one-eyed kitty of adorableness? Well, I can give you face time with her.

Re-watching Series One of Doctor Who. I know Christopher Eccleston wanted to do a single season and be done with it, yet I can't help but lament. I love watching him, watching his choices as an actor.

He was fantastic.

The good news: I only taught two classes today, not three.

The middling news: I had one orientation in the morning class, and four in the evening. That meant I couldn't just call stuff out; I had to demonstrate everything, and do one-on-one adjustments the entire time. But I did call on a couple of regulars to illustrate specific moves that my wonky-ass shoulder would just not allow (reverse plank? SO not happening).

The bad news: the Methylprednisone pack is, thus far, miraculous; within hours of taking the first dose my pain was noticeably diminished. You'd think this would go under good news, but no! Lessening of pain + adrenaline surge = Kelly loses track of the whole 'take it easy, do nothing that might strain the injury' plan of action.



I'm not even considering the possibility that I've adjusted to a certain level of discomfort/pain as an acceptable baseline. That's crazy talk, that is, and I'm having none of it. So there.

So.

( My body has totally sold me out.  )

The Great Ceiling Escapade continues apace. Truth? It's nearly done, but I am lazy terribly busy and important and haven't had the opportunity to make regular posts regarding the day to day progress. Let's just think of this as an experiment in time travel - nay, time and space. There may be wibbley wobbly bits.

( My living room is bigger on the inside. )

There's my classy boy.



coming soon: more kitty tales, why I failed at NaNo before it even began, and Almost Finished! pics

Despite a scheduling kerfuffle this weekend, our living room has seen steady progress over the past few days. As in tomorrow, it should be finished. Or so we hope.

Let me take you back to Monday. ( hidden to protect the uninterested )

I'm heading out to a local Democrats gathering, so it's unlikely I'll be posting a pictorial update on the living room. I will, however, tell you this: the ceiling is painted. Next: all the trim (and there's a lot) and the walls. That's right: I chose a color. All by myself. Actually, I chose four and then asked S'nP Mike what he thought, he suggested two entirely different colors and I chose one of them.

What? It still counts.

There are both plastic and canvas drop cloths on the living room floor. I'm glad I warned S'nP Mike that they wouldn't be nice and neat come tomorrow afternoon, because Handsome Tom is alternately racing through the room and screeching to a halt so he can slide and spin.

Ah, well. At least he's not covered with paint.

Yet.

We're in a bit of a holding pattern. S'nP Mike has, I think, finished spackling. In addition to tending the seams and nail holes in the ceiling, he's also repaired the corners that were covered by strips of rounded molding as well as some of the more noticeable bumps and divots in our inarguably wonky walls. Honestly. This house. One of these days I might just take you on a photo tour of where doors once were, or the many textures and levels of flooring, or the electrical outlets (spoiler alert: one's in a door frame!). Heavens forfend I set a level down anywhere. The point is, though, that all of this spackling now will ultimately yield a much smoother surface when we come to project's end.

( Read more )



Next up is sanding, then priming, then fixing the numerous gaps and irregularities prior to painting (which will include not only the ceiling and walls, but also the doors and ALL of the trim. I am ridiculously excited). Part of me wants to paint that long wall with chalkboard paint and always have a tub of colored chalk at hand. Another part of me - the one that's paying to have these walls professionally painted - is looking at warm, simple, cozy colored paint chips. More on that tomorrow!



†I made that up, but please don't tell anyone. Let's see how long it takes for that bit of misinformation to go viral! I've done my duty and tweeted it.

Let me tell you about my friend Cat. She's funny as all hell, smart, talented, stalwart and far, far cooler than I could ever dream of being. And here's one more reason I love her:

In lieu of a "Look at my ceiling!" post, I'm going to share with you the reactions my kitties have had to the current project.

( click! )

Let me tell you a story. Last winter, my husband approached my fabulously talented contractor brother-in-law with a simple question: how much would it cost to fix the exposed cement/embedded stovepipe behind our kitchen stove? And we ended up with a fully remodeled kitchen.

~*~The End~*~

The saga of 'FrankenHouse Gets a New Ceiling' isn’t going to be anywhere near as rich and layered. We’re not ripping down the sheet rock from the walls; we’ve not called in the electricians (though I wish we were able. *dreamy sigh!*), we’re not tearing up the flooring. There’s no need to call the tile guy, or the plumber, or the stone people (who were not, for the record, trolls. I asked). If you’re a homeowner or someone who's done repairs on any living space, you’ll understand this: there is no such thing as a simple home improvement project.*

But more on that later.


( On to the carnage! )

A few things to tide you over until the next exciting installment of FrankenHouse Gets a New Ceiling!:

~turns out my day off wasn't. I taught this evening, which meant plans to leisurely cobble together some sort of dinner weren't in the cards. It's not that I mind planning meals; I just don't like the stealth attack.

~my grocery store has a butcher counter. which, of course, but when would I think to use it? other than today, clearly, so many thanks to Mike for cutting a lovely (and very reasonably priced) pork shoulder roast just for me!

~pulled pork in the slow cooker = super easy + crazy yummy. In addition, consider this: oven roasted sweet potato fries, lightly toasted multigrain rolls and homemade coleslaw. In your eye, leisurely cobbling! (apologies to hobbyist shoemakers)

~this whole living room thing is WAY less exciting than the kitchen remodel. I expect that when we start digging into the walls (at some far removed date), we'll have all manner of wacky tales. For now, though, it's mostly a bowed ceiling, unexplained shims and random panelling. There haven't even been any mouse corpses. *grumps*

~HT really hates hiding away in the basement for twelve hours. Jilly's pretty keen on his doing so.

~Cardio-kickboxing is mad fun, and you should all come take a class at my gym. I've got free passes!

~this icon has absolutely nothing to do with this post, but I'm likely retiring it soon and I feel it deserves it's day in the sun.

~oh, right! I did a mini-cull of my friendslist. Mostly people who have been inactive for a good long while (Hayes? Do. Not. Fret.).

The first time we set foot in our quirky wee house, we were charmed by several things: the wood stove, the big bay window, and the wainscoted ceiling. It gave the main living space a warm, cozy feeling. After a few years, cozy turned to claustrophobic and warm became "what was the previous owner thinking?" This feeling only intensified when, as part of our great kitchen remodel, we completely redid the ceiling. Suddenly - magically, even - that tiny room seemed larger, brighter, airier, and though we only gained a few inches in height, it looked significantly taller. Headroomier, if I might say.

Don and I knew that someday we'd want to bite the bullet and do the same for the living room ceiling.


( That day has come. )

Operation: Encourage Don to Like Brussels Sprouts is underway. Though my darling dear is a far more adventurous eater than I, there are certain foods that - thanks to previous uninspiring* exposure - he has long been certain he doesn't like. Asparagus. Steak. Nutella.

All right, maybe not that last one.

As chance would have it, Brussels sprouts were on sale at my local store this week. I think it was awomanthatsblue suggested roasting them; I'm totally on board with that. Of course I can look up recipes, but if anyone has personal experience with this particular veggie, feel free to share! Otherwise I'm going to toss them with olive oil, salt and pepper and pop 'em in a 400 degree oven for 20-30 minutes... just see if I don't.


*He didn't realize asparagus isn't naturally stringy, nor that properly cooked steak isn't meant to be shoe-leather tough.

How would I accomplish anything without kitties to help?

*le sigh*

It is grey and raining and blustery in SnowWhiteLand. While I wouldn't want this weather for days on end, it's rather nice. I was forced to stay indoors and face up to the huge, hulking clutter-monster that is (or rather, was) my office. There are still far too many books to be dealt with; I can't even think about the bags and boxes in the attic. If I had the time, though, and a ready stream of postage, I'd set to the next giveaway at once. For now, they're boxed up and pushed to the side. I'm going to need as much available floor space as I can muster since... no. No, I'll wait to tell you all about that on Monday.

Mess though it was, I couldn't stretch out the office project all day, so I moved on to the next eyesore: my closet. Actually, my entire side of the bedroom, but I had to start somewhere. I emptied the entire thing, top to bottom, got rid of shoes I've not worn in the past several years, set summer clothes aside and sorted through everything else. For someone who hates clothes shopping, I've amassed a fair amount, and yet wear the same few things 'til they're falling apart. Then I put some safety pins in the gaps and wear them some more. I simply HATE how most things look on me. I blame my stumpy torso and big hips. Stupid disproportionate body. In any event, I've a full large trash bag of clothes to take to the Salvation Army drop, where I will use my freakishly small hands to heave them into the bin.

I went through my jewelry box (matching up earrings, pulling the twenty nine pounds of pewter pins and scads of pirate-y jewelry I NEVER WEAR and putting them with my costume pieces), cleaned off the top of my dresser (I found nine pens and three knives - one folding utility, two mini Swiss Army - under the clutter) and put the rest of my laundry away - neatly, no less! - into semi-organized drawers.

There's still my night stand to attack, with it's towering pile of fitness and cooking magazines, half a dozen books, Lush lotion (Don bought me Dream Cream and bath bombs this week; I think I'll keep him), 3-in-1 oil, crinkly kitty toys (handy for distracting HT when he's bullying Jilly) and my teeny tiny alarm clock. Then there's the heap of bags and target mitts and extra grappling gloves behind the stand-up mirror. Oh, and the pile of stuff alongside the wall on my side of the bed.

I need to keep going. I must de-clutter.

Not, however, tonight. In about half an hour we're headed to Coquito's to have cocktails and tapas and watch an awesome local candidate's televised debate. Tomorrow's not looking good, either, since I have kickboxing first thing and then I'll be moving things into my office from... oh, that's right. I'm waiting until Monday to share that news. Which will, no doubt, be a let down after my ham handed attempt at building suspense.