Saturday, August 22, 2015

that d@mn cat {part deux}

She's back.

If you missed episode one, see that HERE.

No, seriously. Go check it won't regret it.  Well, maybe you will, but that's not my problem is it?

Izzy has graced us with her presence religiously since her reappearance in November 2013.  I prefer to think of it as her reincarnation because that makes way more sense considering I was Shirley MacLaine in a previous life.

Unfortunately, Izzy didn't come back as a cabana boy.

We're used to going a day or two, or even three (occasionally) without seeing the little hairball.  Gone missing a week to 10 days?  That's reason to celebrate worry.

Philly: She's gone this time.  We're never going to see her again.  I'm burning her house.

Me: This has all happened before, and it will all happen again.  Don't burn her house just yet.  You know if you do, she'll turn up and you'll have to build her a new one.

Joyful, cat-free days fly by with no sightings.  We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun.

Then Emma comes home for a couple days. The jig is up. We're going to have to break the glorious news.

Strangely, Emma doesn't seem the least bit concerned.  Clearly, she doesn't give two craps about her cat like we do.

Soon it's time for Emma to take her leave, so we're all saying our fare-thee-wells, and Emma decides to say goodbye to Izzy.  She walks along the side of the house and calls for That Damn Cat.

Philly and I exchange knowing glances. That Damn Cat is Gone, Girl.  Never to be seen again.  She's dust in the wind "mrrweow...??" the pussy-footed little shite comes wandering out of the rose bushes like she's been there all along.

Of course, Emma is clueless as my mouth gapes open while Japanese beetles swarm my epiglottis.

Oh, and it's all love, love, love freakin purr, purr, purr.

After Emma left, and I roused out of my state of despair shock, I asked That Damn Cat, "Where have you been, and why are you back?"

Meow, meow, meow freakin purr, purr, purr.

The Zombie Catpocalypse occurred and she was one of those infected, only to return and never die.

It's the only explanation. Unless you buy the Shirley MacLaine crap.

Creme Puff?  Thirty-eight years old?  Ptttthhhht.  That Damn Cat will make it to 40.  Wa-freakin-hoo.


In other news, we just got back from attending a 50th Adversity-Day party.  These are wonderful people I've known most of my life, and for some reason they still like me. Their daughter is one of my oldest and very dearest friends. I don't mean she's old she's my age we've been friends since barely out of diapers. For example, when her Dad worked at the local college, he took us to their theater to watch ALL 3 STAR WARS EPISODES BACK-TO-BACK! Best day ever. We also took a bus trip together to Washington, DC. 

Great, great friend. Anyway...

Her uncle approaches us at the party and says, "Is this the friend who taught you how to swear?"

Me: Well, I don't remember doing that, but it does certainly sound like me.

Actually, I turned bright red and was speechless for the first time in my life.

My reputation precedes me. I'm infamous. I'm a bad influence.

It's about time I was recognized for my true talents.

If you missed my own Adversity-Day swearing post, you can read about that HERE

And my son is getting married in 6 weeks. Can I lose 30 f#$%(#@ pounds by then?

I didn't f#$%(#@ think so.

Friday, August 7, 2015

i'm so glad you cuss

Thing 1: I've lost my mojo, in case you haven't noticed.
Thing 2: I'm not guaranteeing it's back, but one can hope.
Thing 3: If you have delicate sensibilities and the F-Bomb is hopelessly offensive to you, turn your ship around now.

the story of c"us"s

You may recall a post from two years ago when I impressed you with some wedding stuff because it was our 14th adversity day.  If not, here's a taste.  Yes, we're classy.

Today is our 16th adversity day.  If you were paying attention, you would have noticed I skipped right over number 15.  I'm lazy.

I've seen so many sweet, poignant stories about how my fellow bloggers met their Honeys and fell in love.  I am therefore compelled to share ours.

However, ours is probably more pungent than poignant.  And it not only involves a swear word, but THE swear word.  Let's go.

I ran into an old high-school boyfriend at a bar.

A bar?  This is starting off well.

I use the term "boyfriend" loosely since we only dated a month and he dumped me because I wouldn't put out.  Then I had to chase him down and call his mother just to get my class ring returned.  He also left me stranded at a Christmas party and Elvis had to drive me home.  But I digress.*

I asked him if he knew any nice guys to introduce me to.

Why am I asking this a-hole?

He said, "YES!"  I have just the fact, he's here with me at this bar right now!

And he's a used-car salesman!

Oh. My. Gawd.

In point of fact, Mystery Guy (MG) had already left.  They were all there for a bachelor party and MG had bugged out.

I had no good excuse for still being at the bar.

Anyway, HSB (high-school boyfriend) promised me he would get in touch with MG and have him call me.  In the meantime, he said, "Hey!  You know this guy...he's the dude who ran over your friend Julie!"

It just keeps getting better.

A few years previously, my friend Julie was running.  At night.  On a very dark road.  In dark clothing.  With headphones on.  Idiot.  And yes, MG nearly killed her.  Only he's such an ace driver, he didn't.  If anyone else had been driving that car, I have no doubt Julie would be dead today.  Probably tomorrow too.  MG did some seriously skilled driving and only grazed her fanny.

He's such an

Days go by and I don't hear from either MG or HSB.  Naturally, HSB completely let me down and never even told MG about this smokin' hot babe he never screwed in high school and who was interested in a date.

What to do?

Of course I called Julie.  She didn't have MG's number, but she knew his name. Naturally, his number was unlisted.


MG's ex-wife was listed in the phone book!
(You know where this is going, right?)
You just have to know Julie.
She has bigger cojones than a bull on mating day.

She called MG's ex-wife and asked for his number.  Then she called MG and gave him my number.

And he finally called me.  At 10:30 on a school night.

Catch of the day.

Philly and I talked until 2:00 a.m.

We got the preliminaries out of the way.
Do you have kids?  Yes.
Do you want more?  No.
Have you slept with Julie?  No.
Neither had Phil.

After we discovered neither of us wanted more kids or had slept with Julie, we decided a date was possible.

We talked some more and covered lots of important stuff.  Like the fact I gained a million pounds when I was pregnant.  I had to wear an orange triangle at all times and I beeped when I walked backwards.

The subject took an ugly turn as the size my maternity jeans became apparent.

At that point, Phil decided to throw caution to the wind and put it all on the line.  Either I was going to like him the way he was, or I wasn't...and then we wouldn't have to waste each others' time.

He referred to my jeans as "BFJs."

"BFJs?" I queried.

Phil:  "Big Fuckin' Jeans."

Me:  {silence}

At this point Phil is certain he has to cut and run.  He KNOWS he's screwed the pooch by dropping the F-bomb while insulting the size of my fat, pregnant ass.

Then a miracle occurred.... 

Me:  "I'm so glad you cuss."

I'm pretty sure that wasn't the response he was expecting.

So there you have it.  Philly and I bonded over the F-word.

You tell me how many other love stories have origins like that.

And since it seems to be customary to make a craft to commemorate our imprinting, this just happened:

And someday this bad boy is going to grace our gallery wall.  If I ever get a round tuit.

I must say my farewell because I have a bottle of Pinot Grigio calling my name. Who am I kidding?  It's been calling and I've been answering for the past hour.

But we're off to celebrate our 16th adversity day.


*Just so you know, HSB is a very good friend despite the fact everything I said above is true. He attended our wedding and we attended his.  His recessional hymn was The Imperial March, which makes him my hero. 

Monday, April 20, 2015

onward, kitchen soldiers! {buzz lightrail... to the rescue!}

Do you remember where we left off?  Because I sure don't...

Oh yes.  Skin tags, crown moulding, and unfortunate squash. Silly me.

I love the look of a wall cabinet that is finished on the bottom with some kind of moulding, whether it's functional (light rail) or not.  Once Philly realized I didn't make this concept up to torture him, he was fully on board.

The cabinets in our old house weren't "finished out" on the bottom, but they were very light cabinets and the cabinet boxes were also light.  So the unfinished business didn't really scream at you even if you turned your head and looked under the cabinets' skirts.

kitchen in our old house

Our new cabinets are a dark cherry, and the cabinet boxes are a light birch, so it's VERY noticeable when you peer up underneath these cabinets' skirts, which happens when you're sitting down.  Anywhere.

Well, not in the bathroom.  Or in the car.  Oh, never mind.

The most obvious of the unfinished business:

Under-cabinet lighting was one of my 10 commandments written in dog snacks and later destroyed by Eddie.  It happens.

We don't have a window in the actual kitchen area, and with the dark cabinets, you sometimes need a spelunking cap to make your way through.

Under-cabinet lighting would be the difference between Eddie getting his canned spaghettios and Phil getting his canned dog food.  Strike that.  Reverse it.  Thank you.

I wanted to hang disco balls under the cabinets but Phil put his foot down.  And his finger in the air.

Philly put his disco balls away and did some research.  He came up with some great LED lighting by Go LED Lite.  I hate to admit it, but in the long run, this was far more practical.


Back to work.  He installed the cherry veneer panel to finish the space above the sink and attached the extrusions that hold the light strips.  He also ran the wiring and attached the LED strips beneath all the other cabinetry.

Buzz, Buzz....

Part of this project was also finishing out the microwave cabinet:

 More cherry veneered panels:


Remember what the cabinet tushies looked like before Buzz Lightrail?

And the finished product:

Oh, and we totally installed Buzz upside-down.  But that was completely intentional and way more fun.

Buzz is looking pretty awesome, wouldn't you say?

And Philly is such a good sport.  Even after that Saturday Night Fever picture I made of him, I'm still comfortable in the fact he's not secretly plotting my demise.

I think.