Blue Sky Tag

Thank you, Nusrath Sariffo’deen (Diary of a Muslim Girl) for nominating me for the blue sky tag. I shall now attempt to answer your questions so that the world can get to know me better the way I got to know you a little better reading your questions and answers.

  1. Describe yourself in one word: Recovering. I am a recovering addict. I am also treating depression and anxiety. So recovering is the word I think describes me.
  2. Coke or Pepsi? Neither, but if I have to choose one, then Coke. The Mexican Coke, made with actual sugar and not that high-fructose-muckity-muck
  3. Desk: messy or organized? I prefer organized, but I often let it get messy when I don’t have time to do all the things I think I want to do. I can’t stand clutter.
  4. Pet Ownership: which is better, dog or cat? Depends on what we’re talking about. Cats are better for rodent control, and they require less attention. However, my little doggie Mollie is the best for reminding me to stay in the moment, love with my whole heart, and play like it’s the most joyful thing ever
  5. Things to do: which is better, sing or dance? That’s another hard one, since I do neither well LOL. I guess sing, since it is less taxing on my COPD lungs
  6. Are you always early or terminally late? Early. Always.
  7. What is your favorite book you read as a child? Um, probably the nursery rhyme book we had in the living room. There was one little rhyme about a purple cow that I loved. “I never saw a purple cow/I never hope to be one/but if there were a purple cow/I’d rather see than be one”
  8. What is your all-time favorite joke? “What’s grosser than gross? Eating a rump roast and it farts!” (sorry, inside I’m really just a 12 year old boy or something, farts are funny)
  9. Who is the funniest person you know? Hands down, Sunshine. That man can make me laugh until my abdominal muscles hurt and my lungs feel like they’re going to deflate explosively
  10. What is your favorite word? Probably motherfucker. I actually had a drug-court treatment plan, signed by a judge, that read “I will not use the word motherfucker in any variation in group therapy sessions for two weeks”. (The judge read it, raised an eyebrow, looked at my counselor; she replied “Your honor, I assure you that it’s necessary” and he signed it. And yes, that is the entirety of the treatment plan for that two week period.)
  11. What is your least favorite word? apathy. I hate the word, I hate what it means, I hate that it manifested itself in my life for the last few years. Hence the depression and anxiety treatments that led me to choose “recovery” as my one word description.

final note: I can’t think of 11 people to nominate right now, I’m so busy trying to get laundry and food preservation caught up that I almost forgot I had been selected for this challenge. Again, thank you to Nusrath for tagging me!

Laundry day

It’s laundry day here in the buttfuck middle of nowhere. I didn’t do any laundry last week. None. Zero. Zip. Zilch.

Sunshine was out of town, so there wasn’t as much getting dirtied up around here. Well, nothing much except kitchen towels and rags. I pulled most of my kitchen towels and rags from their designated spot to hang until laundry day (so they don’t mold and mildew in the hamper and ruin actual clothes). The upside is that now I know what happened to all my kitchen rags and towels.

Sunshine got home Friday night, and brought a week’s worth of dirty​ clothes home. I managed to get all of that thrown in the wash​ yesterday morning before work, and he got them dried and put away for me. He can be so awesome sometimes.

This morning, I decided that it was time to do laundry and clean my house because OMGWTF it’s really bad.

When I went to pull the dirty laundry out of the hamper, I found clothes that had been dirty for so long I forgot I owned them.

side note: y’all probably think I’m joking. I’m totally not. I found shirts and pants I forgot I owned. I’m so fucking pathetic.

I threw all the laundry into the middle of the living room floor and started sorting it. Here is how my sorting process went down this morning.

Does it have a zipper? If yes, it goes in this pile. Apparently, things with zippers is a laundry sorting category now. Because I don’t want the zippers on those pants I forgot I owned to be snagging and ruining those tops I forgot I owned.

The next question I asked myself was “is it black or almost black?” That took care of almost half of the rest of the dirty clothes. Apparently, Sunshine and I favor a similar color palette in our clothes. Black, and almost black. For me, almost black can include many shades of grey and blue; for Sunshine, it includes shades of black, faded black, and denim.

The last question I asked myself was “will the bleach cleaners in these rags fuck up it up and make me cry?” If bleach spots on something wouldn’t make me cry, it went into the last pile. There are many shades of white, grey, and off-white; and none of it will be irreparably harmed by any sort of cleaning chemicals. I saved this load for last so I could clean the bathroom and put the rags in that load.

Sunshine had a full load in yesterday, and I have at least three loads today. Why in hell did I let it get like this? I’m kind of thinking I didn’t. The fucking laundry hamper was only 1/3 full when Sunshine got home late Friday, so I’m blaming it on him.

Now, I should probably go clean the bathroom. Because eeewwwwwwwwww.

Out of character

We went looking for exterior doors on Saturday. We went to the Habitat for Humanity ReStore in the northern part of the DFW Metroplex, because our budget is tight and the ReStore is all eco-friendly repurpose reuse recycle and shit.

We actually did find some doors we liked, but that’s not what I’m here to talk about today. The doors will get their own post as they came unfinished.

What I’m here to talk about is how I did something completely out of character for me. I found a couch. You might be thinking that finding a couch is a normal thing for any human to do when they have to buy a smaller couch to fit their new home, and you’d be correct. The “out of character” part lies in the couch I picked.

I’m a minimalist. I’m a minimalist almost to the point of brutalism. I like modern, minimal, clean lined things. I like all that Scandinavian modern stuff, I like mid-century modern stuff. I like modern, I like minimal.

However, the couch I picked is anything but modern and minimal. The couch I picked is the most ridiculous thing I can imagine. I shit you not–I picked a fucking ridiculous couch.

Without further ado, I give you the ridiculous couch.

ridiculous couch 2

ridiculous couch

Is this couch not the most ridiculous thing you’ve seen today? Perhaps it’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve seen ever. Except for maybe monkey butlers. I don’t think there’s anything truly more ridiculous than a monkey butler, because who wants a butler that throws poo?

The orange and gold striped cushions didn’t come with the couch. I didn’t want them anyway. I like how the back of the couch is so high, and tilted back a bit. I also like how the arms of the couch curve around a bit. That will help hold the ass cushions in place. It’s also a bit like the couch is reaching around to give you a hug. I’ll find some better back cushions for this couch–cushions that feel like marshmallow hugs or some shit.

final note: yes, it’s too early to be thinking about couches and shit when we don’t even have any walls built or anything. But it was the ReStore, and who knows if it would have been there when we DID get ready for a couch. Also? Yes, I know it needs some serious cleaning. I’ll get to that before we move it into the house.

Alternative Art

Mr B brought some pumpkins out here a couple of months ago, right after he arrived out here full-time. The pumpkins sat in the yard next to the solarium, just sitting there, little bits of orange in the grass. I don’t know what their purpose was supposed to be, so I just left them alone.

Fast forward to Saturday morning, when Sunshine and Mr B were standing in the yard next to the solarium discussing a bobcat sighting. I wandered up because I was searching for Mollie. After I saw that she was accounted for and safe, I noticed the pumpkins.

I have decreed that they are B’art (which is my abbreviation for Mr B art) and I have photographed them for you to enjoy. As I was digging for somebody’s phone so that I could immortalize the B’art, I asked “so what’s the deal with the pumpkins, anyway?” Mr B told me that he brought them here from an investment property he owned, and that after removing them from the vehicle and placing them on the ground, he promptly forgot to deal with them ever again and there they sat where he placed them when he removed them from the car.

side note: it simultaneously makes zero sense and perfect sense. That’s life out here some days.

Without further ado, I give you B’art.

flat-rotten-pumpkinflat-rotty-mini-pumpkinmolded-rotting-pumpkinmoldy-rotten-pumpkin

final notes: almost immediately after I snapped these shots, Mr B’s large goofy dog took off chasing a cat and smashed the round one all to hell, which made me laugh so hard I almost choked.

Also, excuse my macabre sensibilities, I do tend to find the beauty (or at least the interesting) in the grotesque