Good morning I reallllly don't want to go to work so here are some random thoughts.

We have very changeable weather and it's pissing me off. Rain, sun, cold, hot, cloudy, clear, wind wind wind, do I wear my heavy coat or not? When can I wear my sandals for a whole day? Gah annoying.

But we also have leaves on the trees now. And tulip trees are blooming, and tulips themselves and daffodils. Pretty terrific. So as ever, it's a trade-off.

We also have our first case of swine flu, just a little north of me. It is all over the news. I am not afraid of swine flu. You can't scare me with it. Blame an entire lifetime of media over-hype and constant hysterical fear-mongering. Only when the morgues run out of room due to the overflow of corpses will I begin to worry.

Speaking of corpses (the fanged type), I love that Snookie is completely sucked into the Twilight books, against her will and despite fighting the good fight. It cracks me up. It cracks her up, too. I now kind of want to read the stupid books just so we can talk about how stupid they are together, so why the hell do we keep reading these things? I really want to have that series of conversations. Which would mean I'd have to read the damn books.

And YAY Laura (Kinsale)'s book will get published, HURRAH. Can't wait to read it again, in actual book form. It's great and fabulous and fun fun fun, but I already said that once. When it's on shelves at last, we will all read and discuss, yes? Yes. Yay!

At like 8:30 last night, I decided that I needed to bake cookies. It was very random. Sometimes, you just need to bake. Unfortunately, I am all PMSy and this morning I decided to have cookies for breakfast and now I'm nauseous. Terrific.

Oh gads I actually have to go to work now. Ugh. Just wanna lay down for a while and nap and watch fabulously awful daytime TV. I need a massive dose of Judge Judy. Need. Massive. Now. Waah.

Oy.

It's SBD and nobuddy but me and my buddy Chas is doing anything about it. EDITEDITEDIT and also jmc, so there.


Candle In The Dark, by the usually more impressive Megan Chance

I suppose this review is as much about what's in me as it is about what's in the book. But then - all books are a bit of you, whether you wrote them or not, or at least that's what I've always believed.

So.

Well.

Okay, look. I know a little something about secrets, and hiding huge hunks of who you are, and the fear (terror) of talking about yourself and your past and your hopes and your pain to another person. Everyone knows at least a little about these things, if you've lived at all, and some of us know more than a little. That includes these characters, whose emotional circumstances I comprehend about as fully as it is possible to comprehend fictitious characters' lives and the resulting brokenness.

We have a guy whose life is a crashing failure, all due to a couple of common human failings/mistakes, a set of awful parents, and a debilitating lack of confidence in himself. Oh, and all this has led to his becoming a drunk. A REAL drunk, not the Romance novel version (which, for you uninitiated, is a guy who goes on a bender for a few weeks or months before snapping out of it). We have a chick who is so used to being alone and trusting absolutely no one but herself, that she's basically become a masterfully crafted defensive machine in human form, constantly boiling oil and pouring it down on would-be invaders below.

What I'm saying here is: these people are a fucking mess. These people need help. Professionally. They don't need to get laid. They don't need to fall in love. Jesus god almighty, romance is the last thing either of these people need, much less to fall in love with each other.

Now. Usually in the land of Romance, this set-up leads you to think, "This is disastrous and yet perfect. The only answer to their individual pain is the other person's redemptive love, huzzah!" That's how the great heart-tugging stories work. It's how they keep you reading late into the night and not caring what anyone thinks of the cover and oh gads when will they finally kiss because I can't TAKE it anymore they are SO made for each other omigod he's looking at her like that, eeeep!

I didn't feel like that at all in this book. Maybe I'm too old. Maybe I've lived too much. Maybe I've had more than my fair share of being closed off and terrified of myself. Maybe I know far too well what it's like to want to talk in spite of myself, and how it feels to force yourself to say something, to know what it will cost you, to know you have to do this or else there's really no point to even being alive. To know that it's not the person listening who'll save you, it's you who does the saving. With every syllable, with every tiny partial relaxation of this tight hold on your world, with every moment of comfortable silence and unselfconscious existence in the other person's presence -- to learn a whole different way to breathe. You save yourself by letting yourself have a friend and be a friend.

So, right. I know these things. Not that I was ever the top whore in a New York brothel, or an alcoholic doctor whose bag is full of leeches, but the emotional situation? Is one of the themes in the story of my life. That's why I can say with complete authority that these people didn't need each other. They didn't need to fall in love and/or live happily ever after. I'm pretty sure that's one of the worst things that could've happened to them, so thank gads they're fictitious.

What they need, both of them, is at least one very, very good friend. Maybe they could've fallen in friendship instead of in love - with some unresolved sexual tension, or maybe one with a size Small unrequited crush on the other. Sure, that could work. And it's not that your lover or your spouse can't also be your best friend. But you just really can't healthily go from Completely Fucked Up And Friendless to Happily Ever After in one week. At that level of brokenness, you have to ease into the world of human relationships. You need someone who wants to be there and wants to listen to your very fucked-up shit because they like you and they think maybe they can help, not because they're also kind of hoping to have sex at some point, and they enjoy making out with you, and hey wanna have babies together?

Romantic love is a scary soup, if you're deep in it feet first, see. You need someone at the edge to toss you a life vest from time to time. You need some relationships that are not high-risk, but that do require your presence and your thoughtfulness and your giving of yourself. And laughing, and learning, and watching bad television together and discussing skin care products and making fun of other people together.

Sometimes, you just need someone to talk to. And with enough talking and enough trying and enough practice at opening up your innards to another's inspection and commentary - with enough caring and loving kindness to help relieve the pressure of an unrelentingly painful life and with a lot of time and a little luck - you might just move from Complete Disaster Area to a level above that - Just Messed Up Enough To Fall In Love.

Here's what I know for sure: falling in love doesn't keep you alive, and it sure as all hell doesn't keep you from the brink of insanity. Lasting relationships do. Friends do.

Note as well that this book once more proves my theory (to me, anyway) that two thoroughly damaged people should never be the love interests in a Romance. You can do one Damaged and another Slightly Bruised. Or even two Moderately Fucked Ups. But never have both of them in need of years of intense psychotherapy before they're even fit for human consumtion. It just doesn't work.

The book is also full of some awful writing - a ton of redudant bullshit (the typical 5 pages of writing about his thoughts, jabbering on about his feeeelings at that precise moment in time, GOD I hate that) and some awful clichés and poor word choices and just a lot of boring blah-blah. But that's all stuff a good editor could fix. The actual relationship is the bigger problem, and it was an insurmountable obstacle to my enjoyment. I actually skimmed the last few chapters because man oh man - repetitive and predictable and cliché, and I just wanted both of them to find a friend to hang out with and talk - not to fall in love with each other. Just stopped caring about it about 2/3rds through.

I checked, and this is Megan Chance's first book, written like 15 years ago. It really shows, poor thing. Honestly, if I just had this to go on, I'd never dream she'd become as good as she is in her later books. It does show some balls, though, to go with such unconventional characters and unconventional settings. (It's an historical, but they start in New York for a couple of chapters and then spend the rest of the time in the Panamanian jungles.) Both characters were believable enough, so that's saying something, and I - unlike I'm sure many many many MANY Romance readers - have no problem at all with the heroine having been a whore. And not just a "whore", but actually, no really - a whore. In a whorehouse. For years. And planning to open her own whorehouse, too. Me, I gots no problem with that as a character background.

I probably had a bigger problem with him being an historically accurate doctor. I mean, he bleeds people, for godsakes. People with fevers! And no bleach or boiling the instruments or anything, it's awful! Totally made me squirm, and it made me like him far less. I can't help that I was born in the late 20th century, so there's no getting over the fact that I automatically feel like he's a fucking incompetent moron every time he picks up the lancet. Yes yes - history. But still. Can't like a guy with leeches. Not on his side, at all. And for both of them, I wish I could've seen more of their lives, their pasts. It all seemed kind of sketchy and almost academic, the little bits of facts we got and the characters from their pasts that were only just names on the page.

Bottom line: don't read it. It doesn't really work well. I've read 3 Romances by her now, and I have to say that they just don't work. In every one of them, I doubted the happy ending. In all of them, I didn't think these people belonged with each other for longer than a fun and torrid affair - and in this case, I didn't even want that for them. Maybe this is why she gave up writing in the genre, because she realized this same thing? Because the one non-Romance of hers that I read was great, and would've been awful if forced to fit into the genre.

Um. Yeah, hey does this qualify as the most meandering book review ever? Probably.

The End. Phone ringing. No proofreading, sorry

Sound the flourish, y'all it's

SBD

woo hoooo and whatnot, am I right?

I will actually be finishing up a real-live romance novel today and shall blog about it tonight. I think I have much to say. Or maybe not so much. I guess we'll find out. Do join me in the blather, eh? It's springtime springy out there and we all need fun books to read as we make our way to the park or beach or back porch, or wherever, so's we can sit in the sun and breathe in the fabulous breeze and read a book, which makes us look like we have some reason to be sitting there.

So - books! Tell us of them! Now!

Okay, the dreams are anxiety-filled, frustration-fueled podcasts of crazy, but the weirder part is that I'm suddenly remembering all of my dreams. I've never believed people who say they don't dream at all - I've always believed everyone has dreams when they sleep (unless they never get to that particular sleep-stage, which after a while would like kill you and/or turn you into a psychopath) but that some people rarely remember them. Some people remember lots, some only remember the very vivids, etc. I have generally remembered like maybe one dream per every 4 nights.

But now alla sudden it's dream-o-rama every night, multiple times, so maybe it's possible I've not actually been dreaming all that much and now it's dream overload? Hm.

Anyway, one of the dreams last night had to do with going to the coffee shop, which I actually have to do today, as I am out of coffee. In the dream, I couldn't find said coffee shop - kept arguing that no it wasn't Metropolis, I KNOW where Metropolis is, this one is just SOUTH of there, why isn't it there? It was incredibly frustrating, leading to many arguments and crazy-making searches for this phantom shop whose name I couldn't remember.

Of course now, I need to go to the coffee shop. In reality. And it's Metropolis I'll go to, and there is no other coffee shop just south of there that I'd ever want to go to instead. (Except the Chicago Coffee & Tea Company, but I'd want tea from there, not coffee, but anyway.) Just now, though, it's the rain that stops me. And the parking situation up there. Parking sucks there. And I refuse to plunk boatloads of quarters into the meters, rar. (We in Chicago are having a parking meter revolt. Long story, but google it and you'll see.)

I would go hang in the coffee shop for a while and sip a café au lait and read a few chapters - why spend ages hunting a parking spot only to buy a pound of beans and leave immediately, right? - but I run into the classic problem with Romance novels. That is, the cover. I'm curious enough to finish this here book, but the cover is just cliché pathetic. Giant blooming tropical flowers framing a beefcake and a beauty with hair blowing and flowing over half the cover as they make out in a contorted position. I suppose it shouldn't embarrass me - I mean, people sit in public avidly turning the pages of the Twilight novels, for heavensakes, so what do I have to be embarrassed about? But still - old habits die hard. I could make a book cover for it - just like junior high! - but that's way more effort than I'm willing to put forth.

This is why I should have a magazine subscription, see. Sigh.

Ookay okay - get dressed. Coffee shop. It's a plan. Assuming that it hasn't disappeared and people start accusing me of not knowing anything and wasting their time and can't we just go to Starbucks or something because this is a stupid way to spend a day, etc. (I'm telling you, the dreams suck.)

The thing about Indian food? No matter how much you take it easy and eat slowly and cut out the rice and just nibble at the naan - no matter what, you always wind up eating too much and wishing you could undo the last 6 bites or so.

It's quite the phenomenon.

I'm tired. I didn't sleep so brilliantly last night. Hours awake and with no good reason. Trying to figure out if this is just a delayed reaction to certain stressors which have already passed - like a funtastic residue of emotional brittleness! Tasty! - or if it's something else entirely. There's the sleep issue and now the constant paranoid fantasies which are mostly contained in the dream state, little as I am in it, and the whole constant underlying urge to burst into tears, all day every day, even when I'm just like sorting a spreadsheet or popping popcorn or whatnot.

You know - your general Everyone Hates Me, My Whole Life Is A Shameful Failure, I Just Want To Hide Under My Bed All Day kind of mood swamp. Could be the aforementioned delayed reaction to stress, could be PMS - who the fuck knows, man.

But oh hey guess what is NOT helping at all? I TOTALLY have a liver spot! Okay, it's maybe just a sun-spot? Or perhaps just several freckles which decided to unify in a distressingly solid though admittedly pale tannish patch on my forehead. Like, overnight. And dudes, I wear SPF 15 every frickin day, okay, plus I'm only just 36 and who the hell gets liver spots on their FACE at this age? Jaysus. Completely unfair.

I'm trying to decide whether to splurge for an appropriate skin care product (it's only like $20, but still - I am a stingy, die hard, budget-adhering freak lately) or to just part my hair on the right so as to cover it up better.

Or, as Snookie always advised: get a burka. It's all the rage.

S'all I got. Peace out.

JMC wrote a thing, but she also wrote a thing about the SBs's's's book, too, just browse around on her lj abd you'll find it.

Here's a random SBDish-but-not entry:

FYI, I just got done watching Castle (Nathan Fillion yay!) and it was pretty great. For once, I liked his character as much as hers - not that he's unlikeable, it's just he wasn't as fun as she was, for some reason. But in this episode, he totally was. And that dress she wore was fugly. As was her fancied-up hair. Ick. But still: fun episode. Three cheers for watchable TV, huh? Such a rarity.

So I've mentioned, I think, how I have various mini-movies that go on in my head frequently? Less frequently now. I think maybe it dies down as you get older. And they definitely get more mini. Short and sweet and to the point. Tonight's random "Hey this should happen to me!" flash was all about how I'd find some rare antique (I have a particular one in mind, but I'll keep the details mysterious) and buy it for like $50, just to spruce up the place a bit. Then I find out - perhaps on an especially exciting episode of Antiques Road Show - that it's worth millions. My idly dreaming brain decided on $9 million, but the reailty-based brain would setlle for less, fyi. Then I sell it and quit my job and give a mill to Snooks but as an investment more than a gift because she'd have to promise, as I would, that our new millionaire job would be to devote a couple hours a day to writing. Then we would jointly write an awesome screenplay which makes more millions and then we spend our time wondering what to do with so much damn money.

It's a fun dream. Funny how these wee bitty mini-movies of the mind often end up with forcing me to write something, somehow. Like my subconscious insisting that if I just had all the time and money I could ever need, bing bang boom voilà: I'm a productive writer. But really I know that's not what's holding me back. If it were just time and money, that'd be relatively easy to solve, but it's really about the place you go when you write - or at least where I go when I write, and when I write well - what I call writing well, anyway, though it's all just a matter of opinion and taste, right? Anyway, it's a place I don't currently feel like going to. It's not a good or bad place. It's just full of a certain kind of energy, and it hums and tingles with the current flowing through and sometimes you get electrocuted which really fucking hurts and just now I'm rather enjoying being safe and boring and silent.

But ANYWAY.

Here's a tip for writers of Romance, ready? Stop talking about your characters having "strange" sensations or "strange" feelings or whatever. Strange. It's the wrong word, almost always in your context. And that context is always some underlying tension between the guy and the girl - she has a strange feeling that she can trust him, or he has a strange feeling that she's not as harmless as she looks. Whatever. You know what I mean. Use "unexpected" instead, please. Or "new" or "perplexing" or "undefineable" or the like. Because that's what you really mean, and "strange" is lazy and cliched and b-o-r-i-n-g.

No, don't use "odd" instead, you cop-out, you. Sheesh. Especially if you're talking about tingly bits below the belt. There is nothing at all "strange" about those feelings. They are thrilling, they are maybe overwhelming or confusing or the cause of great anxiety and inexplicable nervousness, but they are not ever "strange", got it? Gads, am I sick of that adjective waving at me like a big screeching red flag in the middle of the text.

Oh Carrie, it's Candle In The Dark I'm reading (in which Megan Chance, yes, describes one of the characters as having a "strange feeling") and it's intriguing so far. Was it you who recommended it? I think someone did, ages ago, and I put it on my wishlist at the swap and one day my wish was granted, hurrah.

Speaking of which, I have like 5 requests for books I posted yesterday, so I better bust out the postage and hie me to yon post haste.

I also bought a whole case of cheap wine and I probably sucked down a tad oermuch this eve, so tis best if I take my leave now.

Exuent!

Hi there Happy Monday! I pat myself on the back, for I have remembered that it's

SBD

Which stands for Smart Bitches Day, but I kinda feel bad that I don't even really read the original SB's anymore. I mean, they apparently have a book out and everything, but I feel not even a twinge of interest in reading it. Good for them, though, yay.

But ANYWAY, I started reading a Megan Chance book and it's so far verrrrrrry promising, but I'm only on like Chapter 3 - so (a) it could go bad, and (b) I won't have it finished in time to SBD tonight. Perhaps I'll just spend the evening preparing for Thursday, which will apparently be Talk Like Shakespeare day here in my fair city. I imagine I'll be slinging around a lot of forsooths and exuents.

Go forth! Blab about books! Tell us all about it! Or just say hi, whatever.

It's time for another round of Blurry Blurry Pictures! (No relation to Hungry Hungry Hippos.)

Here is what my dear friend Tom of the bad mental associations has dubbed The Butt Sex Couch. I told him if I had to assign it a sex act, it'd be oral. Or just call it some adjective that refers to the vulva. Vulvular? Is that a word? Let's make it a word. In any case, I'm becoming far more comfortable with my bordello couch, pictured here:


This is how I decided NOT to position it (hence the not-attached arm there on the left - I was experimenting). I actually kind of liked it like this, as it leaves a lot of space in the room. Space for coffee tables and arm chairs and whatever else I feel like cluttering the joint up with. But there's really not much point in a couch that leaves you facing away from both the windows and the television.

I did momentarily consider moving the TV and then had a flash of a vision about rearranging the whole room, but then I remembered that everything in this apartment - and I mean EVERYTHING - is where it is because of the relevant outlets. As in: there are exactly two electrical outlets in the living room. One where the TV currently is, and one just under the calendar there. The possibilities are not exactly endless in a pre-Depression Era building, sadly.

So I wound up positioning it as originally planned, like so:



(That's the tag/instructions there. I have detached them now. Duh.) It occurs to me that the pink lampshade - which I myself made out of tissue paper when the original neurtal-colored rice paper shade came apart - is somewhat ill-advised, in this color scheme. I need to choose another color. And then make another lampshade. Sigh.

Here it is from the side.


Yeah, see - obviously that rug just doesn't quite work. But I can't afford a new one for several months, sadly. Same goes for the planned throw-pillows. Which is actually okay, I think, because those black ones are ridiculously comfortable. Also, I have emptied that there cd rack so the whle corner is empty. Well, except for Thunder's beloved box. Which is still decorated for Christmas, so I guess that makes two reasons to break out the tissue paper, huh?

So there it is. Seeing the color in person, I realize that gold isn't quite the right accent color to set it off, here. More like a natural, tannish, flaxeny thing, maybe with bits of a very pale green involved somewhere. Or something. I dunno, whatever. I'm tired from all the arranging and rearranging and dusting and alphabetizing and gads, you have no idea how many Kinsale books I have, people. And I do definitely need another bookcase - a very large one, in fact - but like the rug and the pillows and the hand-vac and whatever else, it'll have to wait a while until I have more monies.

The storage, though? Under the cushions? Is freaking awesome as all hell. Love. Loooooove. So much love.

Now I will make breakfast for supper, becaause I feel like it. Night!

Sorry, I said I'd post a pic of the Lascivious Couch in situ, but I mislaid the camera and don't have the will to search for it just right now. Tomorrow, promise. It's probably under one of these piles of books because what I've wound up doing with most the day is book-sorting. Put lots on the swap, which frees up room on the shelves and I figured as long as I was at it, I might as well dust em all off and alphabetize on the bookshelves instead of random sideways stacks which make sense to me but have little to do with the alphabet. I also put the dvd's and cd's and some reference books into the new non-lascivious storage space, which leaves me with a lot of freed up space in the corner of the living room. I could fit another bookshelf! If I need one, which I'll find out after I finish dusting and arranging the existing library.

When I wasn't dealing with books, I spent much time lounging on the Lascivious Couch and getting used to it. I think it's working for me.

It's very mild weather and my windows are open all day and I decided it is now mojito season again. So yummy. So now I will retire to the Lascivious Couch and drink my drink and try to coax Thunderpussy nto the cushions, because she is leery. Not that I can blame her.

Hooowee, I missed you, mojito. Sooooo much.

Hm.

It's the red that's hard to get used to. It feels very decadent, all splashed out in the middle of my living room, in couch form. It's a very luxurious-looking. The color, I mean. Like it should be a in a swank hotel lobby. Or a whorehouse. Or something.

I rearranged the pieces in all possible layouts, and the original still looks best. I'm getting over the whole euro-mod look by throwing blankets and pillows all over it. Totally works. I may just get a slipcover of some sort, to make it look homier AND to cover all that erotic red lusciousness. (Yes, I said erotic. It's not quite the right word, but there is something... salacious about this color. Salacious! A fave word.) (And I have no problem with salaciousness, it's just that it doesn't match the style of the rest of my stuff, which is more in the Thrown Together From A Yard Sale vein.)

Here's a more lasting issue: it is very comfy as a bed, but not so much as a couch. You don't sink down into the cushions even a little bit - not even an inch. It's that firm. Maybe it can be broken in, and in a few months it'll have a little give to it.

But more troubling is the depth of the seat. And by depth, I mean --the place where you put your butt, the measurement of that from the back of the couch to the edge of your seat. It's like maybe 4 inches shorter than a normal couch. It's very narrow. This is not so comfy because my ass, it is not so narrow. It fits, but it feels unnatural to pull my legs up and sit cross-legged, which i am ever wont to do on a couch. So you combine this narrowness with the lack of give in the cushions, and it feels like you're sitting on a not-uncomfortable decorative bench.

Maybe I should get the ottoman?

Sigh. I dunno. Maybe this couch and I, we just gotta get to know each other better. I'm thinking it'll help break the ice by filling the exciting storage compartments with various Stuff. And maybe spill something on it? And definitely lounge on it as much as possible all weekend. We'll see how it goes.

Oh, hey and it came with two small black microfiber pillows. If you want em, let me know, because I sure don't. Can't imagine who wants black pillows, though. I will buy others, perhaps that buttery yellow color, and I also need a new rug because this one isn't working at all and then I'll look into the slipcover issue, but I can't do any of that for like another YEAR, because of the landlord pay-back plan, plus the stepped-up DMP payments, and also I'm getting no overtime at work, stupid fucking economy, cutbacks, rar, etc. So no money for decorama.

Pictures later.

We have achieved couch. Ladies and gentlemen, I repeat: WE HAVE ACHIEVED COUCH.

And it's the right couch! And delivered on time! And it fit! And not damaged! And the fabric is as fab as expected! All is good and right and true.

Except I'm not sure if I like it. Don't get me wrong - it's exactly as expected. And maybe I just have to get used to it? But it just... so... mod. And european-y. And not shabby-comfy-messy. It kind of doesn't match me.

I dunno. And now I have a sneaking suspicion that it might look better with the couch along the window and the chaise stretched out in front of the TV. I could try to take it apart and reassemble it tonight, and maybe I will. But first I'm ordering food. hungry. Long week. But any week that ends in a new couch can't be all bad, right? Right?

Hrm.

Okay, the eviction thing is sorted out. I will not be evicted. I will have to pay back a lot, but not all, of the rent I withheld. I will have my lease renewed without the expected-to-be-more-than-usual increase. I am not entirely happy with the situation and it is quite unjust, but I don't have nor do I want to retain a lawyer while dealing with an eviction suit and finding a place to live and moving, all in a couple of days. So an unfair but amicable settlement is optimum. Also, the one guy in the office who I always found creepy and icky and who fucked all this up is getting yelled at by all four of his bosses for having fucked up so bad, which is satisfying. (And the other staff people in the office who like me and who seem to be on my side keep giving me the inside scoop on all the drama I've caused. And brownies - they keep giving me brownies. Plus my maintenance requests are now like perpetually at the top of the list. So there are non-monetary perks to this settlement.)

So that's over. Yay.

Today is Couchday again. If I don't sound quite so excited, it's because I am convinced that my streak of stressful awfulness is not over. I have managed to conjure up at least 10 paranoid visions of How I Never Get A Couch I Want, and all seem perfectly valid. So I'm not holding my breath. We'll see.

On the plus side: my hair is still fab, it's Friday, it's sunny and fucking gorgeous outside, I'm not getting evicted, and hey look - my wee tax refund just dropped into my bank account. I think I'll take it and order a pasta pizza tonight, and pick up an entire case of two buck chuck. After this week, I deserve it.

But first: work.

Yeah. Still not resolved. Not talking about it. Exhausted. Shit, and just realized I'm hungry, too, as I missed supper. Anyway, here - it's the only thing brings a smile to my face. Or more accurately, causing hysterical tears and shrieks of laughter: Stavros Flatly. (No imbedding allowed, sorry.)

Now I will go make myself a snack. Except, fuck - I'm out of bread. And milk, I think. I was gonna stop after work, but no time and well just motherfuckitall, I HATE this week.

Oh for the love of sweet cheeses, I REALLY am not in the mood for perverted phone stalkers and calls to the cops and all that shit again. What? WHAT? What on earth have I done to deserve the bleeding ulcer that is this past week? Seriously. Is this the cosmic price of an awesome haircut? Or maybe I've had too many naps in my life so the universe decided to balance the scales with a few sleepless nights? Why can't everyone just go the fuck away and leave me ALONE, please.

arrrrrrrrrrgh

I'm sorry, I can't SBD or blog in general until this issue with the Looming Eviction is resolved. After playing phone tag with my landlord all day (it was a very one-sided phone tag, I'll have you know, the bastard), I stopped in at the office when I got home to see if I could catch him in the wild. No dice, but my building manager was there - he's the one with whom I've grown quite close over the months, what with me bitching about the leaks and with him apologizing and thanking me for my patience, ad nauseum. He immediately asked me about how the windows are, and said to me, "Every time it rains, I think of you first."

Side note: I like this building manager. I like this apartment (when it's watertight). This is why I stayed through 8 months of swamp-like living conditions - because it's impossible to hate this guy, and I knew he was honestly doing his poor best. So I'm just saying, I'm not a chump and he's not a dickhead. Shit just happened. And then I got an eviction notice.

Which, when I informed him of said notice, he made a face and said, "What? Why would you get an eviction notice?" My thoughts precisely, dude. So we discussed and he's taking all my documentation to the landlord and will make sure he gets in touch with me. (The landlord is in full need of all his staff and then some, I've learned over the years. He forgets everything. He is not a details guy. He kinda needs looking after.) I said to please make sure he gets in touch with me, like, NOW because this letter says the suit will be filed against me Thursday, as in the DAY AFTER TOMORROW, so it really can't wait, see?

To which the good manager said, in his pitch-perfect Chicago voice, "Psht. That's a form letter, don't even. I ain't letting you get evicted on Thursday. It's not gonna happen. But you gotta talk to him, and I'll warn you what he's gonna say." That basically boils down to: he'll try to get me to pay the rent I deducted for myself, or at least part of it, and he'll want an explanation of how I decided on the amount to deduct and if my renter insurance won't cover anything that was damaged, blah blah blah blah blah. All of these things, I expected. So no biggie. Just JAYSUS can he please call me and get this shit over with? Please?

So I'm slightly less tearing-hair-out about the situation (ohh! my Indian name: Tears Hair Out!) and just anxious to get it over with so that I can have my apartment, and my couch, and my life back to normal, please. Thanks.

Oh, and dinner. Some dinner would be nice, too. I guess I should (sigh) cook some.

Well, what with coming home and finding an eviction notice under my door (which I'm not panicking about, considering it merely a bureaucratic mistake to be sorted out tomorrow), on top of the couch debacle, this has been a pretty sucky 3-day weekend for yours truly.

Except that I came home with yummy Easter dinner leftovers and a fab new (drastic) hair cut. Those are positives. Lefotovers: artichoke hearts in wine sauce, pasta with fresh tomato and ricotta, and a salad. Hair cut: seven inches lopped off into a bouncy kinda bob which makes me so happy and relieved I could just spit, I tell you. You know how when people get a ton of hair chopped off, and it's like it feels so weird - ooh my head feels so light, there's this draft on my neck, it feels different and alien and takes a week or two to get used to it? Well, not me. Not even a little bit. Five pounds of hair gone in a flurry of snipsnipsnip, and all I feel is normal again. No adjustment or adaptation needed. Nuttin but sweet relief. All is right with the world.

Apart from my bed being in my living room because of a lack of furniture. And the aforementioned eviction notice. But! By Friday, I will have cleared up the issue with the landlord and be welcoming my new exciting couch into my life. Or I'll be telling the furniture store to hold on to the couch until I have a valid address for delivery as I search desperately for a place to live within five days.

So. Um. Let's all look on the bright side, shall we? No matter which way it goes, I'll at least have cute, bouncy, low-maintenance hair to see me through it all.

Curses and blessings, people: they go hand in hand.

Toodle pip.

Okay. So.

I sat in my depressingly empty living room and cried like crazy for a couple of hours. Yes it is silly to get so worked up over a couch, but I mean come on. This is Couchday, after all. And it was the perfect couch. It was!

Or so I kept repeating to myself through the bitter disappointment, until I decided I was REALLY MAD at having no couch to sit on and my futon in the dumpster, so I pulled myself together and headed to the burbs, deciding that I'll just get anything that's not too ugly and it might as well cost less and save me money, if I'm settling, grumble grumble. Then I decided to stop just like 2 miles from home, in the city, at this one furniture store that I never noticed before, but I figured - might as well look since it's on the way, and since it's not a corporate chain place, maybe they'll have stuff the other stores don't. Plus I just didn't want to go back and see The Couch I Cannot Have, so this was a good stall tactic.

The first couch when I walked in - and in that hilarious way that life works, nearly stumbled over - immediately made me think: "See, THAT would fit because of the way it's designed. Too bad it's got that kinda icky fabric/leather combo." A few minutes later the saleslady came over and asked if she could help, and I told her I was having a horrible day because I got a couch and they can't fit it up my stairs and it's just terrible, it's awful, and do you have any others designed like this one? And she was genuinely sympathetic with me over the loss of the couch and scornful of some company who'd sell me a couch before finding out if it could be delivered, and then just leave me all couchless like that.

"Well yeah," said I, as she led me to the back of the store to see a similarly designed and sure-to-fit sectional. "Anyway, it's been sort of a traumatic day and I'm not sure I can bring myself to do anything more than look right now, because it was perfect."

Sounding rather full of conviction and wisdom (or maybe it was just the middle eastern-ish accent?), she intoned: "If it didn't fit, then it cannot be perfect."

"Oh. You mean, like, cosmically?"

"I mean physically. But okay, cosmically too, if you like. Your perfect couch is here." And she showed me how the one with the fab design but icky fabric has built-in storage and folds back to make a bed.

One thing and another, yadda yadda yadda, it comes in red. Red like my red coat! I am really really disappointed it's not available in a lighter shade (except the icky grey tweed and a boring tan) because I reallllllllllly want green, I am totally attached to the green thing. BUT! This is microfiber, way higher quality and I love the fabric far more than that on the couch That Won't Fit. And the extra storage is awesome, and it's very adaptable - it's like a puzzle couch, where you can easily change the chaise around all you want - and some glowing silklike-covered gold pillows will brighten it up perfectly.

The retail price was $500 more than I paid for the Non-fitting Couch, and she immediately hacked $300 off that. I got her to throw in free delivery and no taxes and I wound up only paying $31 more than on the other couch.

So in conclusion, I have mad haggling skills, I supported the local business instead of the corporate bastards (where I will seriously probably always shop for my furniture now), and this time next week, I will have this couch. Which they will deliver on a Friday night whenever I get home from work and give them a ring. I love these people, seriously.

And now if you don't mind, I am completely and totally exhausted because today was WAY more emotionally draining than it had any right to be. I will now wheel my bed into the living room (way easy, btw, as the louvred doors are wide enough to let a mac truck through) and watch some TV and eat some pizza and idly plan what exactly to use all that storage for.

Well so this is officially the worst day of my life. The couch won't fit. Not up the back stairs, not up the front stairs. Not ever. Because, even though I kept asking about the delivery and how wide/tall a hallway it had to be, they were all like "don't worry, they'll figure it out when they get there." So they got here and they figured out that I can never, ever, under any circumstances - except say if a giant hole was blasted into the walls - fit this couch up the stairs and into my apartment.

So I'll just it here and weep helplessly. In my bare living room. Because I not longer have anything to sit on except a big empty floor.

jesus this is so fucking depressing, i can't even tell you

Hey I found my camera, YAY!

Okay, so here's the BEFORE:



Normally that rack of cd's and dvd's and books and other random things is flat against the wall under the scroll thing, but I have moved it to give more room to assemble the couch. Oh and look that's my calendar which I bought at the Inauguration because I (a) wanted a cheap souvenir, and (b) really needed a 2009 calendar. Off to the right is my computer desk which is a bit of a mess at the mo, sorry. But actually it's always a little messy, and whose isn't? Yeah.

Anyway, I'm wondering about the rug because I think it will coordinate okay with the couch- but maybe not. Not that I'm all that attached to the rug, you understand. Thunder kind of is, though. And speaking of Thunder, I really DO have to get some kind of vacuum-like device because I've always had a sheet thrown over the futon to manage the cat hair issue, but I don't wanna put a sheet on my couch. I'm thinking I'll get this, eventually. But at the moment I'm a little sick of spending all my money. I mean I love the couch, but I also love money just as much, see.

No word from the couchmen yet. I have dragged all the futon remains out to the dumpster (all by myself, down 3 flights and through the alley, go me!) and moved everything out of the path that I can and done dishes and swiffered and twiddled my thumbs and taken a picture and I want them to SHOW UP already, sheesh. I'm hungry. I want to go to Hot Dougs and get two (2) hot dogs. Or one hot dog and a small cheese fry. No, too greasy, just the hot dogs. One with kraut, for sure. Mmmm food.

But I am stuck here, waiting. I bet anything they don't show up until like 5pm, rar. But I will totally post an AFTER picture, because it is Couchday and the excitement knows no bounds.

Now I will make a pb&j or something, and look at the phone, willing it to ring.

Happy Couchday!!

Okay, first off let me say that I am no longer allowed to have a major event like this, ever, because I can't find my fucking camera. Which I just had like 3 days ago, but now it is nowhere, nowhere,. NOWHERE. Hilariously, I have found the cord. So if I did have the camera, I could easily upload the photos. but I can't find the camera. Anywhere. Which is So. Fucking. Annoying.

Just imagine my living room without a futon, and I've swiffered all over so it's all gleaming expanses of wood, patiently waiting for the couchmen. I myself am sweaty and covered in ca hair and lint and dust, because of all my swiffering and dusting and general cleaning of these hard-to-reach corners, now exposed because goodbye futon. And now I need to drag the last two big slabs of wood down the stairs and to the dumpster. Then I will come back and hunt for the camera.

Couchday!

Happy Couchday Eve!

In keeping with this week's couch theme, I offer the following meandering anecdote which amuses me but actually has no point and is probably one of those She sure does talk a lot things that drives people crazy about me.

So some months ago I found this one couch at furniture.com (which the couch was sold by Harlem/The Room Place which is staff by an absurdly large and ravenous pack of vultures) and I loved it soooooo much. It was much like the one I will be getting tomorrow (!!!) but it was a light blue. I'd have ordered it, but it was out of stock without any known re-stock date and they'd obviously left it up on the site merely to taunt me. Cruel bastards.

Anyhoo, before I knew it was Gone Forever From My Life, I emailed the link to Snookie, because it looked EXACTLY like her couch. Total identical twin in every way (except half of what hers cost, I think, so probably hers is better quality). Naturally, I asked her, "Would it be weird if I got this couch? Because it's your couch's twin." And she answered "No, it wouldn't be weird. Well maybe a little, but who cares? I mean, it's not like we're going to be out in public together, with our couches, and everyone will be like hey those two have the same exact couch on their arm. Get the couch, it's awesome."

Thus spake Snookie, but as aforementioned, that couch is Gone Forever. So I told this story to my niece as we drove around on the couch-hunt Saturday. She laughed and said "She's totally right. It's not like you'd be out with your couches together."
me: "I know, it's completely logical. And hilarious. And yet I still had to ask before thinking of buying."
Niece: "Of course you did."
me: "I was compelled. It seemed presumptuous or something."
Niece: "You HAVE to ask, you just can't buy a couch that's a duplicate of your friends'."
me: "And yet, why can't you? Because: duh."
Niece: "Exactly. That's why it's so funny."

See, it's funny because of the layers of counterintuitive logic, see.

Shortly after this conversation, we found my couch (yay!!) and then one thing and another, I was home and hanging out and contemplating how freaking heavy a futon matress is (hint: very very very), and the phone rang. It was my friend Heather. I skipped the greeting and immediately said "I BOUGHT A COUCH TODAY IT'S PERFECT IT'S COMING FRIDAY!!!" Heather herself has been wanting a couch - badly - so she was crazy excited for me. Funnily enough, we have very similar futons. Same basic design, same color - hers is just a better wood than mine and has this soft-fuzzy cover to the mattress.

But ANYWAY.

It was Heather who thought to check if the store's site had my couch pictured, so I found it and sent her a link. The link didn't work, so I told her to go to the home page, then click on Sectionals, then-- then she interrupted me with "OMG I know which one it is already and I love it, it's perfect, it's exactly what I want, oh man is it awesome, and I love the green." Et cetera. So after many minutes of her admiring/jealous exclamations, there was a very slight awkward pause and I said
me: "You can buy the same couch."
*pause*
me: "Seriously, if you want that couch, it's totally cool."
Heather: "Really? Because I have no problem having the same couch as you."
me: "Me neither. As Snookie once said to me - it's not like we'll be hanging out in public with our matching couches."
Heather: "hahahaha that's funny! because it's true!"
me: "Exactly. You can come test drive my couch first, if you want, instead of driving to the store."
Heather: "I can't wait, this is so exciting, I love it."

So Heather and my couch have a date sceduled next weekend, to see if they're compatible. Already she's not so hot on the retro pillows - she said they're totally my style, but not hers. and I agree they're not hers, but they're not really mine either. Closer to me than her, I admit. I wish they offered it in more colors. Not that Heather can't have the same color as me, but I mean variety is the spice of life and all that, and green/brown retro pillow designs? Yeesh.

So that was my pointless meandering anecdote set. The end.

Tomorrow will be Couchday! And I will take pictures and we will all be very happy and indulge me in my latest manic episode, okay? Okay! yay!

Yay hooray they came today and put up newblinds and re-stained and -varnished the window frames and sills so it doesn't look all worn and raggedy about the edges anymore, woohoo the leakage nightmare is officially over, wooohoooo!! Hmm, but it's all still very wet and how long do you suppose it takes to dry? Because I gotta COUCH showing soon, ya know (!!!!!!!) and I don't want wood-stain-varnish all over it.

Also it's cold and I obviously have to keep the windows open until it all dries out, because of the fumes and the air that dries the wetness, and did I mention it's cold? Because it is. And all of these windows are open. Letting in the outside air, which is very cold. I'm just saying.

So there's a couple random things I didn't mention yesterday, like how I have come to accept the fact that, for whatever reason, I really really really enjoy seeing what famous people wear. Like, clothes. Me. This is weird because I don't particularly care about fashion in my own life at all, but apparently there's some DNA-encoded girly thing where I just love to look at pretty people in pretty clothes. And as you may have guessed, my total adoration of Michelle Obama has not abated in the slightest, so the launch of this site makes me happy happy. For the record, I cannot stop looking at her in that Thakoon dress in Strasbourg. Holy jesus almighty, is that ever a great goddamn dress. That eggplant-colored sleeveless one that she wore to the not-State of the Union speech was my previous fave. I still love it because the color of it, OMG THE COLOR, it's just so gorgeous and stunning and aubergine and sexy. But now I have this new fabulous one to look at and sigh to myself "ooh pretty pretty".

Because I am a total girl.

Also, you should know that my new obsessively favorite breakfast (and oftimes snack) is a toasted slice of wheat bread slathered in peanut butter and jelly. Well, not jelly - I don't actually like jelly much. BUT I have discovered that I DO love the Polaner All Fruit spread. So a layer of that goes on first, and then you have to carefully spread a thick coat of peanut butter (Jif!!!) on there. And it gets all melty, but the pb on top of the jelly is better than t'other way around, less messy, I know because I have experimented with the assembly here, okay. And yes, I suppose you could get TWO pieces of toast and put jelly on one, pb on the other - but it's just not the same. The proportions are all off. And it's not the same, either, if you put pb on the left half of the toast slice and jelly on the right half and then fold it over. No fold-overs. It doesn't taste the same. It doesn't. Gah, just trust me, people.

I'm cold. Still. In case you were curious.

So I called the furniture people and they were like "Oh yeah we get a lot of people who decide at the last minute that they don't want the delivery when they first said. Like they're getting carpet put in and it's not done yet, like that. So we just check to make sure you remember when we're coming and to make sure you don't turn the deliverymen away at the door or anything." Which makes sense. I only hope I don't have to turn them away because of the still-wet varnish-n-stain.

So also I got a new dvd player, did I mention? Because the former one was crap that only barely worked for like a few weeks and then died and I couldn't find the receipt to return it and now it's way too late anyway. Plus it only cost like $25 (on sale, but still), so I figured ya know - ya get what you pay for. Namely, crap. All my fault. Anyhow I got a new one, works great, but here's a thing I notice with dvd players: why the fuck do they make them so that you can't even minimally operate them without the remote control? There's no Play button on there. There's a power button and the open/close. No navigation buttons, or play or pause or anything else. And it's not just this one, because I looked at several and like NONE had any more than maybe 3 goddamn buttons on the machine. It's so dumb. I hate them.

However it should be noted that I love my boots. The Doc Martens, I mean. Except the left one seems to have a slightly askew tongue. Either said tongue is mis-stitched, or my foot/ankle/leg is (are?) malformed and cause the tongue to list to the side and bunch up. I wonder if I could take it back to the cobbler who stretched them. He was very admiring of the boots, going on about the excellent quality, good boots, they'll last forever, really really good boots (I was all like "I know! I got so sick of crappy shoes, so I did good, huh?") and I was all proud, because yay me and my fabulous purchasing acumen, clearly I am to be admired and lauded. Anyway, I almost feel like I'd be depressing him a little to reveal that they are in any way flawed. Also I don't want to have to not wear them while he fixes them. Because it's not sandal weather yet. (Which btw - freezing cold, here. FYI.)

In conclusion, I got so thoroughly wrapped up in the excitement of Couchday (aka Friday) that I completely forgot that I have a 4-day work week. Which means I work tomorrow and then: weekend! Already! How cool is that?

Answer: very. Hurrah!!!!

And now I shall put on another layer of fleece and make some scalding hot tea. Tschuss, y'all!

okay hi some quick notes, ready?

1. I forgot to mention that my roof is apparently totally fixed now, yay! It leaked last week on Thursday, but then after the guy on a ladder asked me where it was leaking - and then spent all the day until nightfall working on said area - it has rained and snowed (and sleeted and, yes, hailed) and not a drop. Hooray!

2. I can't seem to get into any books at all and it'd be very upsetting but instead I'm just watching a lot of TV and netflix. Incidentally, that new show on Mondays with Nathan Fillion is pretty good, even though it's not a genre I'm fond of AND his character is kinda ho-hum. But the female lead character is totally compelling to me - she totally carries the show, imo. Worth watching, which is more than I can say for most things on the airwaves.

3. FYI I hate twitter. I don't understand how anyone can't hate twitter. It's just so goddamn annoying and pointless. About the only good thing about this trend is that it's gone so completely apeshit in the last month or two that it's likely to burn out that much sooner. It's clearly jumped the shark about a million times over, it'd just be nice if it'd implode already and get it over with. And yeah, btw, if you're on twitter? I'm not following you. Ever. Any of you. Yes, that means my bestest friends and even my most favoritest authors. None of you, no one, ever, so don't bother pointing me to your feed. I'm not even apologizing for this pre-emptive rejection, because all the tweeting twits should be apologizing for their own twatty existence, so there.

4. As regards this twit shit, Wonkette put it best, really: It’s no wonder so many fat washed-up Republicans have excitedly embraced this dimbulb fad for middle-aged people who actually consider the ability to fart out typo-ridden nonsense on an overpriced cellphone to be the keys of admission to some World of Opposites version of “hip.”

5. I am totally getting my hair chopped off this weekend. I can't even wait. Chop chop chop!

6. The furniture place left me a message asking me to confirm that I still want my couch. Um, duh? OF COURSE I DO. What, do they get a lot of impulse buys or something? This is crazy to me. If I didn't want it anymore, I would tell you. I wouldn't wait for you to double-check with me. But I want it! No cancel please!

7. Also crazy is that I had transferred money from savings into checking but it still hadn't dropped into the checking account as of Saturday morning (it's there now, this was just poor planning/timing on my part), so I asked if I could do financing. It's 6 months free financing, so yay for them, even though I'll pay it in more like 6 days. But ANYWAY - you know how a large part of our current fucked-overness in re the economy has to do with just giving people credit/loans without checking the most basic info they provide? Like they gave $500k house loans to people who said "I'm a part-time gardener who makes $300,000 a year!" and no one ever checked to see if the person was even employed?

8. Yeah well - this (COMPLETELY ABSURD) practice is alive and well and thriving in our retail sector. The furniture store asked me how much I made and how much I paid in rent. And for my driver's license number. Then they gave me a $6000 line of credit, approx 3 seconds later, after doing nothing but entering this info into the database. They didn't even ask me for a credit card as back-up or anything, or some money down. And they never have to see a cent from me for at least 6 months (or if I used more of that credit line, I could not pay them for like 18 months). I find this completely insane. I know it's just a couch and it's not gonna break the bank if I don't pay, but jaysus. It should be harder than that for you to provide me goods and services without cash exchanging hands.

9. But anyway, look! Here's my couch!
Except the chaise will be on the other side.

10. okay bye!

SBD!!

Hurray, yesterday totally perked me up, hurray!

See okay my niece and neff came over and we ate mexican as usual (I stuck with just the amazing guac and some chips because I wasn't all that hungry) and then I packed them in the car because they were all like "Couch shopping? Hell YES!"

I fucking love these kids. Seriously.

So we drove off to the wilds of the (very near) suburbia and it turns out I'm the goldilocks of sofas. All of them were TOO BIG except the one that was way too small and also too expensive. And every time I was like "hmmm maybe..." within a minute I'd be saying "but it's too dark too long I hate the arms oh it has one of those fugly skirts too overstuffed the cushions are too flopsy and no way am I getting leather or suede." Et cetera. And then the kids would chime in with "And it's too hard too soft wouldn't look right and I know they haven't measured but it's obviously too big." Really, these kids were invaluable shopping helpers.

And bless them because they stuck with me through like 6 stores and I was pretty convinced I wouldn't find one. They quickly learned what I wanted, the size it needed to be, the price range, and my style and design preferences. And they wouldn't - I mean they REFUSED - to let me get anything that didn't meet all the criteria. I was all inclined to compromise, but not them.

We were at the last of the stores, turning the corner on the first of many aisles, talking about how cool that crazy bright red one is and if I don't find what I want, maybe I'll go for that (No, my niece was saying, you can find the one with everything you like and then ask for it in red, though, that might work. I adore her for this Never Settle! attitude she has) and in mid-sentence, I totally saw it. I stopped dead, stuck my arm straight out pointing at it, and began gargling and gasping with this look of incredulity on my face.

At lightning speed, the kids immediately assumed lounging positions and, as I was still trying to find my tongue (I'd semi-swallowed it in the excitement), declared: "Hey it's your couch, Aunt Beth." And it was TOTALLY my couch. It was a two piece sectional, small and not monstrous, green like we'd discussed (I wanted green or possibly a light blue), not leather, clean lines, wood not metal legs, and chaise on the left which is SO HARD TO FIND OH MY GOD. I snagged the next salesman walking by and ordered him to measure it. It was maybe 6" longer than I wanted, but that was better than the 24-inches-too-much we'd found everywhere else, and there's definitely room for those six inches.

So he left us to ponder and I was all "I'll keep looking around the rest of the store and we can come back to it." But the kids refused to budge. "Why do you have to look around anymore?" my niece asked. "This is your couch. It's right here."

"Yeah," her brother said. "It's not going to be anywhere else. Unless it has a doppelganger, but you don't need a doppelganger since your couch is right here."

But it's the whole Principle Of The Thing (the Thing being "comparison shopping") so I strolled about the rest of the store, only to find that the kids who I'd left back on the other sofa were 1000% right - I'd already found the one. So I went back and began to fret about the color because it's very green, see. I kind of waned a celedon, but this was more "puke green but I like it" as my niece said.

Naturally, I had to call Dawn. It's impossible for me to make an important purchase without Dawn giving her rubber stamp of approval. She asked me to describe the green, which I was like
me: "It's like babyshit green?"
Dawn: "Hmm."
me: "No, pea soup!"
Dawn: "Pea soup. Like a bright pea soup where you're surprised how green this soup is, or like normal pea soup?"
me: "It's like normal pea soup. With a lot of hambone in it."
Dawn: "You should probably get it."
me: "It comes in a dark chocolate brown, too."
Dawn: "No no no no no, not with all that dark wood in your apartment! Green will brighten things up, you already have a ton of dark brown in there."
me: "I want the green, I'm just worried it's like the Grinch in furniture form."

Fortunately my niece has a camera phone and hilarious side note: the only reason I wish I had a picture phone is so that I can take Dawn virtual-shopping with me more often. I think of it frequently, actually, so it was so awesome that I finally could take a picture while shopping and send it to Dawn for discussion. So we sent the picture and Dawn booted up and downloaded (it was such a process, but god love her, she was all over it) and was quite enthusiastic. Three cheers for the modern age, eh?

So I have a couch and it's being delivered Friday and I am so excited YAY! And it was an awesome day because it was all sunny (cold, but warm bright sun) with my niece and neff and the guacamole and the shopping with Dawn and the fabulousness of AT LAST buying a sofa and a perfect one at that, and then with the sun starting to go down and our legs tired from the hours of browsing and what with being in the near-burbs and all, I stopped at Superdawg and had a car-hop deliver ice cream treats right to the car door, which was a nice capper to the day.

It was kind of a perfect day. Which I really, really, really needed. And the best part is that a perfect day is reward in itself, but I get the fabulous door prize of a couch!! And THAT will totally keep me very pleasantly satisfied with life for at least a few weeks.

I'll take a picture once it's ensconced. I'm not all that fond of the retro design on the accent pillows (and the accompanying wee ottoman), but s'okay cause they're just pillows. But otherwise, it's really kinda perfect. Which is very exciting.

Yay!

Dude on rickety makeshift scaffolding outside my bedroom window (thoroughly freaking out the might mighty Thunderpussy, btw) taps on my window loud enough that I hear it beneath the blowdryer. I pull down the top window. He says, "Hello there! Last night there is rain, yes. There is water inside dropping? Show me where is wet?"

Let me tell you - the reason I felt such massive relief at that exchange is because in the 7.5 months (!!!) of the raining and the leaking and the wanting to tear my blowdried hair out, this is the first time that anyone with tools in hand actually communicated directly with me in an effort to discover exactly where the problem was. He is doing something with some power tool now, just above the offending area. It is enormously gratifying.

Also it's Friday, ergo weekend imminent. And since it dripped in my bedroom through the entire month of March, I am short-paying my rent today, so extra munnies for me. And my niece is coming to visit tomorrow. So this right here is me looking on the bright side. I've been SO depressed the last few days, so if I move to a bite-sized case of the blues, we'll consider it major progress, shall we?

And now I mun hie me to work. Sigh.

Today? Is very not good.

But whatever. At least it didn't leak on my head. Yet.