Method to the madness

I was looking for some particular decorative tiles today. I got to thinking that maybe I had put them in one of the basement storage compartments of the magic bus, so I waded through the muck from last night’s rain and…

Well, let’s just say I surprised myself. I had finished craft projects in there THAT I FUCKING FORGOT I HAD MADE!

I’ve retrieved those finished objects. They will go to work with me as soon as the boss gets finished expanding the shop, on consignment.

But here’s the thing: what the fuck else is under there that I forgot we owned? And if I forgot we owned it, do we really need it? I’m so sick of the tetris games and musical coffee pot and “have you seen my ______________?” that I could scream.

I’m hoping that any other treasures hidden under the bus make more sense than what I encountered today:

  • The yarn hat Christmas ornaments I fucking forgot I had made
  • A ziploc bag of sage and fuck knows what else
  • 2 bankers boxes full of receipts and shit from Sunshine’s business
  • A giant space saver bag full of sanded chunks of cedar
  • A giant Ziploc bag filled with cross sections of large cardboard tubes
  • Some really scratchy rug yarn
  • A trash bag full of mesh bags I crocheted, filled with yarn scraps, to hang next to Bird feeders, so the birds can use yarn in their nests (and that I FUCKING FORGOT I HAD MADE)
  • A pile of collapsed duffle bags stuffed into a suitcase, including the giant white crochet one that I FUCKING FORGOT I HAD MADE

I found all of that stuff without investigating beyond the opening. I have no idea what might be buried in the center of the basement. I either need to develop a method to the madness or just burn it all and start fresh.


Desperate times…

…call for desperate measures.

It started raining earlier today, and by mid-afternoon, the steps to the RVs out here were already coated in ice. It got ugly quick.

It is now only 7:30PM and this

is some bullshit.

I went to the laundry-pantry-room to get a can of kosher salt to ice down my front steps and we didn’t have any more.

Side note: it probably all got dumped in RV holding tanks during the last hard freeze when everybody’s drain lines froze along with their supply lines. We had to quickly thaw those blockages out when water came back because the constant drip in every faucet (to prevent a rezfreeze) filled tanks fast and they had to be dumped.

What I DID have, however, was a rather healthy supply of bags of this

Which is the desperate measure I just employed to ice my front steps.

Y’all stay warm and dry, wherever you are. I’m in for the night, warm and dry with hot cocoa just begging me to drink it; and a backup plan to retreat to the house (where there’s a fireplace) if we lose power.

The insanity ends now…

…until next weekend, when I do the same shit all over again expecting different results.

This is what happens to my home on weekends, because I work weekends and don’t have time to adult or house.

Normally,  I’m one of those “a place for everything and everything in its place” kind of girl. Normally I limit the amount of stuff that comes into my home; if I get new shoes/pants/whatever, I get rid of an old one. One in, one out.

With the house starting to actually look like a house or something,  I’ve been relaxing that “one in one out” rule somewhat.

Side note: Let’s get honest. I’ve just thrown that fucking rule right out the window.

I’ve been keeping things, because I’m about to have space for things. I can have more than 9 pairs of shoes.

Side note: Let’s get honest. I don’t think I’ve ever owned only 9 pairs of shoes.

Weekends, I’m so tired when I get home that I just stuff shit wherever it will fit. Which means that Mondays are spent unfucking my habitat.

Now, I’m off to do some unfucking. Wish me luck!

It’s been a day

I woke up to puppy yarf on the comforter and in the bedroom floor. The comforter doesn’t fit in the washer, so I had to clean it by hand outside. 

I thought my day couldn’t get any worse.

Then I saw the storm cellar was open and I knew I was facing the seventh circle of hell. Several months ago,  I mentioned to Sunshine that he needed to have someone go down there and get the crates of rotting onions out of there. Do you think he did it?

Fuck no, he didn’t do it.

So I had to start dealing with it. I was in such a rush to get that crate of rot out that I banged my head on the roof of the fucking storm cellar. I sill have a headache, and it’s keeping me angry about this colossal failure to follow directions and I’m planning my revenge on Sunshine as I type. It’s probably going to involve something expensive.

I digress…

The off gassing from the rotting onions had caused the potatoes to rot.

Nothing smells worse than rotting potatoes. Nothing.

I used a face mask and some mentholated rub and still almost yarfed from the stench. It got worse, though. 

I almost came undone when I realized what the sound was that I was hearing. I could hear the fucking maggots writhing in their piles after I removed the crates from the storm cellar. It was a horrifically squishy, wet sound and I cannot unhear it. That sound will give me nightmares, and I’ll probably have PTSD from it to add to my tornado PTSD and my wildfire PTSD.

When Mr B and Sunshine pulled up in the yard as I was working, I promptly went and apologized to Mr B or whoever was the unlucky soul that discovered that hell and left the storm cellar open.

Mr B, being the gracious individual he is, actually went down in the storm cellar with a water hose and shop vac and cleaned out what I hadn’t gotten to yet. Biff (AKA Goldilocks) helped lift crates out too.

Once that ordeal in the seventh circle of hell was over, I thought my day had gotten as bad as it could get. I showered and went to town to get my truck registered.

My first mistake was thinking.

When I returned home and walked into my magic bus, I spotted a bloody mess in my living room floor. Apparently, Mollie found someone’s fresh kill and brought its guts inside and dropped them in the floor. She then proceed to track the blood all over the living room. 

I spared you the actual picture of the guts, because it was actually a grayish brown glob of gross. I didn’t even get a picture of the bloody little Mollie prints because I was to busy rage cleaning.

I’m probably going to go order myself some shoes or something to make me feel better after such a horrible day.

I don’t math well

I recently ordered some coat hangers via the Internet.  Screaming pink velvet flocked slimline hangers. 50 shirt hangers, and 50 hangers I could drape pants over. I got excited about having a real closet again. One with lots of light, bright colors in it. 

Obviously,  I didn’t think that one through very well. 50 + 50 = 100, right?

Somehow, I neglected to factor that equation into my decision making process. I failed to consider what the fuck I’m as even going to do with 100 screaming pink velvet flocked slimline hangers. I don’t have hanging space for that many fucking clothes in this RV. I don’t have anywhere to stash 100 hangers in this RV. 

I did go ahead and swap out my current black, grey, and cream colored velvet flocked slimline hangers. I used just over half of the shirt hangers and just under half of the ones to drape pants over. Now I had giant piles of unused screaming pink velvet flocked slimline hangers AND a mismatched pile of black, grey, and cream velvet flocked slimline hangers to deal with.

I gathered all of the matching black shirt and pants hangers and made sure all of Sunshine’s clothing was all on matched hangers and saved the rest of them for when he has more hanging space. The mismatched black, grey, and cream hangers are in my truck waiting for me to take them to the charity shops as a donation. 

I have stashed the matching pink hangers at Indian the matching black hangers in the driver’s seat of the magic bus. Next time I get ready to order some shit, y’all make me do the maths first,  please?

How did I get here?

Have you ever watched those HGTV and/or DIY shows where a couple builds or remodels a house? I’m not talking about any one show in particular; because ultimately they’re interchangeable.  Boy meets girl; they plan a house; she (or he, depending on which one is the bigger asshole control freak) starts nitpicking and changing things, causing change orders, overages, and delays.

While often entertaining to watch, those nitpickers are a nightmare for the general contractor and all the subcontractors/skilled tradespersons. Sunshine has dealt with many of those nitpickers in his career as a Mason, and he’s figured out the best way to deal with the nitpicking change order junkies is to repeatedly demonstrate that there are consequences to all the changes and nitpicking: every time the nitpickers come at him with a change or addition, a change order form gets filled out and a 25% deposit is required on the spot. Generally, it works.

Side note: sunshine HATES those HGTV and DIY shows. He says they’ve spoiled homeowners  to the point where they expect their contractor/tradesperson to hold their hand, present them with a set number of options, and explain the pros and cons of each option. He is not amused.

Tuesday,  I did a walk-through, looking over the progress that had been made while I was traveling. Overall, I was impressed at first glance. The blue glass has been set into the wall between the bathroom and bedroom, the exterior walls are almost finished…it’s starting to look like something.

Then I started walking through rooms, and ended in the bathroom. Which is where shit started to go awry. Sunshine had made the shower too narrow, and I wasn’t having it. I moved the wall. Which totally negated all the special work he had commissioned for the bathroom window frame. I feel bad; however, now is absolutely the right time to be widening the shower–before waterproofing membrane and tile are installed and fixtures are in place.

I added a cabinet/shelf in the bathroom,  a tiny broom closet between the studs of the wall, an in-wall fold-down ironing board, and a pot filler over the stove.

Of course, most of that changed again as I walked through the house with the electrical engineer. So did a lot of my lighting choices, because I got talked into ceiling fans.

Side note: I do NOT want ceiling fans. I can’t find any ceiling fan lighting kits that I like, and can only find ceiling fans that I can sort-of tolerate. I’ve also nixed some of my light fixtures because of the additional pieces pieces-parts that I don’t want to have to figure out how to hide.

I’m sitting here this morning, wondering how in the hell I got here. How in the hell did I become the nitpicker who changes everything every time she walks through the building with a tradesperson? I don’t like me right now, yet I refuse to compromise on some of this shit because I have to live with it for the rest of my life. Hopefully, I don’t drive Sunshine too crazy before it’s all over.

Final note: they have already nicknamed me “change order”

Waiting game

Some time ago, when the garden was in full swing, producing lots of food, Mr B asked when he would be able to plow it all under so he could level the area to prevent standing water. I told him that December & January  would be perfect,  since nothing would be growing, producing, or planted during that time.

Side note: we’re ignoring the fact that the garden only held water because Mr B extended the distance between rows and therefore had to extend the length of the rows which led to the garden covering a low spot that held water which means that now Mr B is having to solve a problem that he created that isn’t going to be a problem in the future since the garden won’t be extending through that low spot anymore… when you’re a carpenter with a hammer, all problems look like nails to you. Mr B is a Tasmanian devil with a fleet of tractors so all problems look like dirt that needs to be moved. I digress…

By the end of July, the entire garden full of plants that were producing food had been destroyed so he could move dirt. He then made some rows and commenced working on something else. 

So here I sit today, staring at rows made by Mr B that he says need to be tilled.

I’m not sure why I need all these tilled rows, since we are doing are significant portion of this fall garden with the four sisters. The four sisters (corn, squash, beans, and Rocky Mountain bee flower) get planted in mounds that are 2′ in diameter and 18″ tall.

It’s like he can’t stand NOT micro-managing every aspect of all the things. All. The. Things. It would be endearing if it didn’t cause so much chaos. It would be cute if it didn’t mean that projects that he doesn’t prioritize get left undone. It would be funny if it weren’t so frustrating. I digress.

Ultimately,  I wind up in a place where Sunshine is actually ready and willing to help me with gardening,  and we’re on hold because a carpenter with a hammer sees only nails.

Final note: this afternoon,  my garden is being planted, whether Mr B has moved to dirt he thinks need to be moved or hasn’t gotten to it.