Same Old, Same Old... ?

Today didn't have the greatest start. I had an 8am meeting with some parents who are concerned about the vocational future of their adult child with a disability. Such meetings don't happen that often, and are part of what I do. This particular one wasn't really that bad, except for the absurdly early timing. The parents are in a bit of denial about their daughter's abilities, but they were polite and understanding as I outlined options and what my agency would and would not do. They even agreed the current job is a "good fit", as far as it goes.

Mom: [Name of Assisted Living Facility] is not a bad match for "Linda". She likes working with old people.

"Linda": I like new people, too!


Bless her heart.

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A Bore

For Weese. See, it's a door.

Now, 'fess up: did you notice the pseudo-knob, incorrectly placed, on the former door during your visit?

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A Door and a Whore

Sunday, I successfully hung a new door. I know, scintillating information. Historically, though, doors have been the bane of my existence. Moreso even than plumbing or electrical work. In fact, a couple of doors I've ruined in the past function as shelves in our sheds.

This particular door, Sunday's success story, was actually my second attempt to replace the truly sad, saggy, water-damaged critter that existed when we purchased the house. It's fairly visible, the entrance to the storage shed in our carport, and it looked even worse when the new siding went up (like two years ago). I first endeavored to replace that shed door months ago. Because not a single joint in this house is square or plumb, it required a LOT of planing. Because I was inattentive to the orientation of the door, I chiseled out the hinge slots upside down. Because my woman understood the effort involved, and because we were on a time line, we accepted this error and simply flipped the door - so the knob was three feet from the top rather than three feet from the bottom. By then, I was out of time... so I stuck the knob through the door, sans tongue, to create the appearance of a finished door.

Saturday, I decided it was time to permanently attach the knob. Only moments into the effort, I discovered (yet another) major flaw: Because I drilled the knob holes prior to the substantial planing, the latch tongue extended too far. That was the last straw, the failure that sent this broken camel back to Home Depot for a fresh door.

I attacked the new door with cautious confidence. I wrote "top outside" on one panel, so I'd keep the hinges and knob aligned. I used my table saw to trim the edge, so no planing was required. I chiseled carefully, measured everything at least twice, and compared my new door to the fucked up one several times, so there was no stripping of screws or relocating of hinges. Thus was the new door successfully hung. The knob is attached. It locks. It's done. I conquered a door!

Oh. The whore.

That bitch in Oklahoma. You've heard it by now. I was going to suggest that perhaps the bitch doth protest too much; that we should have a Gay Agenda including indoctrination of two-year-olds, including starting GayCare Centers, you know, before your kid goes to Pre-Gay... But I'm not ready to laugh yet. I'm gay, but I ain't happy. What the fuck did we ever do to that ignorant, hateful, bigot?

Kiss my gay ass, Sally Kern.

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Hmmmm

What to blog? Weese suggested I post my yard work efforts, but really, how exciting can re-stacked firewood and bags of leaves be? Lee sent me a cartoon yesterday with the caption, "I am looking out of the window waiting for something to blog". Close enough to the truth.

I had a fabulous time in Connecticut, both as a guest of Casa de Weese (and wife) and at SassyFemme's second annual blogfest, but I think others have nicely captured that event in words and photos.

My dogs are still cute, my job is still annoying, and we're still dragging our feet on the home renovations. We're beyond excited that The Boy is going to Asia, but that's been covered, too.

So... what's to come? As Weese suggested, Spring is nearly here in Northern Virginia. Time to get the tractor serviced and start the grass seeding and watering marathon anew. Pity we didn't get cranking on the basement rehab sooner, because now we'll have to find time for both. And baseball season is nearly upon us, so I need to prep for my two fantasy leagues.

I'm ready for Spring, though. Time to soak up the sun and flex a little muscle. :)

Coming Soon

To a blog near you...

A new blog post. Really. I promise.

Just wanted to get the word out that I hadn't given up on this-here blogging thang entirely. :)

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WTF???

Gmail, this time you've gone too far.

I know, it's damned hard to read. Allow me: There's a hyperlink entitled "UnfaithfulWife", to a website called "marriedbutplaying".

Fuck THAT.

And for the record, that was NOT inspired by the contents of my Inbox.

Harrumph.

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That's My Woman

Evening.

We'd been in the office for a while.

Suzanne left the room; I have no idea for what purpose. Shortly, I heard her talking nonsense to Pixie... a not uncommon occurrence.

She returned to the office. "You left a scary movie on the TV in there. Pixie was all curled up in a little ball* like she was scared...
so I turned it off."**

* also a not uncommon occurrence. See the picture?

** weese, please don't yell at me for leaving a TV on in an uninhabited room for a few short hours.

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Not A Bad Weekend

The leaves have been raked and bagged and, praise the little baby Jebus, there's still grass underneath.

There were nice payoffs for the effort.

The football was 3/4's excellent.

The food was phenomenal.

And the lapful of love was... perfect.

There can't ever be too many pics of our dogs, can there?

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Playoffs

W: I'm worried about this weekend's game.
S: Don't be. NO WAY are the Giants going to beat the 'Boys. They have too much talent.
W: Shit. Do you remember what Romo did at the end of last season?
S: What?
W: He choked like, like... like a Yankee.


*Thanks, Bent. I always LOVED that post. ;p

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On Beverages and Being Lazy

It was a lazy Saturday morning. Quite uncharacteristically, we both slept in. Miraculously, the dogs allowed our slovenly behavior. Upon waking, the dogs needs were tended, but we elected to drink our coffee from bed while channel-surfing.

We ended up viewing a History Channel program on the, well, history of beer in America. From the early competition of breweries in Milwaukee to the vision of August Busch in St. Louis and later upstarts in Colorado, we learned of the challenges of bottling, the introduction of canning, and the woeful interlude known as Prohibition. More than once, the narrator mentioned Busch's dream of making America a nation of beer drinkers. After one such occurrence, Suzanne lifted her coffee mug in tribute and exclaimed, "I love these people!"

Coffee on lazy Saturday mornings is good. Almost as good as entrepreneurism and beer.

Salud.

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The Best Damned Day

I don't do birthdays. Oh, I'm fine with celebrating the birthdays of others, just not my own. I don't care to have a lot of fuss; frankly, I hate being the center of attention. I don't drop hints to coworkers or friends when my birthday is approaching, I beg Suzanne not to sing to me... and, this year, I adamantly insisted that I not be the recipient of another blogosphere VaginArt celebration.

Against all odds, my friends both here at home and across the country respected my wish. Of even greater unlikelihood, I am acknowledging--publicly, willfully, gleefully--my birthday. From the handmade gifts that were a total surprise, to the Japanese Maple that now resides in Connecticut (simply waiting for me to claim it), the thoughtfulness of my dear friends demands more than a gracious receipt. They deserve celebration.

The hand-drawn card taped to a beer from my own fridge was pretty damned funny, too.

Thank you all for a wonderful day. :)

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Inanity

I despise the current Wendy's marketing campaign. You've seen them - some guy is wearing that Godawful red-haired pigtail wig that replicates the restaurant's logo while engaging in burger conversation.

I like Wendy's. Hell, I own stock in Wendy's. It's my name. But the ad campaign blows. It's stupid. Annoying. That's Wrong*.

*Almost enough so to make me refrain from purchasing that delectable new hamburger comprised of jalepenos, bacon, and two kinds of cheese, melted between two beef patties. Mmmmmm.

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Hiatal Highlights

Aka, bits and pieces of what was happening while I was not blogging.

I took out a mailbox... while driving a company car, with my newest employee along for the thump. Oops.

A couple of very dear friendships were compromised. *Whine warning* Isn't quitting your job after having a baby enough? Must new mommies move out of state, too?

A couple of budding friendships continued to blossom (y'all know who you are, and I love you).

Virtually nothing changed on the home improvement front. So far, I'm okay with that. I'm thrilled to report the water hoses have been put away for the season; of course, the grass-growing efforts dictate that we blow and bag the leaves nearly every freaking weekend. Ah, well.

My parents visited, and it was relatively (pun intended) painless... even when we all went to lunch with Suzanne's mom (yikes!). My dad climbed another step up on his pedestal by commenting, "What is, is" when I mentioned my mother's avoidance of my lesbianism. Perhaps the moment was cuter because he said it in old-mumbly-man-from-Texas Spanish... or just because he's my daddy and his unconditional love and support are a cornerstone of my life.

We replaced our shitty cell phones. Suzanne's new QWERTY keyboard has vastly impacted the speed with which she texts.

We celebrated Dud's 10th birthday. He remains fit and active, and I continue to believe self-delude that he'll live forever.

We saw The Boy perform when his tour brought him to the area. The show was as cheesy as a fondue pot at a Packers tailgating party, but he was undeniably good. He's also being paid well, a dream come true for parentals of a no-longer-child pursuing a career in music theatre. Go, Boy, go!

I'm certain there were other occurrences, good and bad... but that's a fair nutshell. I, um, also missed my blogging relationships, so it's good to be back. :)

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Kinda Like Back Home...

... where, if one orders a "coke" at a restaurant, the inevitable question is, "What kind?". In small-town Southeast Texas, "coke" is synonymous with "soda" or "pop" to the rest of the country.

In Northern Virginia, or at least in MY household, I note a similar misusage:

Suzanne: Would you bring me a couple of those almond rocas on your way back?
Wen: How many is "a couple"?
Suzanne: Four.

To my knowledge, this largesse of coupling does not apply to sexual interactions.

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Y'all have a couple of nice days this Thanksgiving. :)

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Just in Time for Thanksgiving

Wife of weese thought it was bad when I sorta kinda broke the bathroom door during their visit. That was easily repaired, however, with a little wood glue, sanding, and painting. My mother's treatment of the bathroom sink fixture, however, was a bit more vexing.

Note: We intentionally chose a retro-style fixture to match the, um, style of our 1950's home. That fixture, however, was neither old nor cheap. What the hell!?!?

Although Suzanne and I did manage to procrastinate make do for a couple of weeks, there is NO WAY we can expect our Thanksgiving guests to employ the same strategy... is there?

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Big D Wins!

Meaning Dudley, of course. I wouldn't dare gloat about the Cowboys victory over the Redskins in this household. Certainly not.

After that last interception, Pixie turned her back on the game.

Suzanne was smarter. She went grocery shopping.

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Nothing But a Number

'Twas the night before Chr--

No, that's not right. Let's see. It's supposed to be the story of when I turned 40, but that milestone hasn't actually occurred yet. Lest any of you old farts slightly more youth-challenged folks think I'm glorying in that fact, I am not. I have been acutely aware that nearly all of my blogfriends, many of whom I love dearly, are older. Genteel soul that I am, I won't name names nor point fingers. Some are older than others, of course.

Take Teresa. Hell, she's only turning 40. Forty. Big freaking whoop. Forty is young in my mind, particularly as I witness the energy, activity, and joy of those of greater chronological achievement. Of course, it helps that I'll be able to claim to be in the same decade as Suzanne when I do turn 40. I wonder what other distinctions will herald that hallmark?

• As I will no longer be working for the agency that is slowly crushing my spirit, I may be employed in an entirely new profession.
• I will be nearly three years into the Five Year Plan.*
• I will almost certainly still be wearing braces.**
• I will continue to revel in the joy that I glean from our amazing friends and pets.
• My truck will be paid off.
• We'll likely have a much better concept of The Boy's future.
• My yard will be as beautiful as a golf course.
• And, possibly, I'll finally have changed the picture on my Driver's License, replacing the picture from when I moved to Virginia - when I was 28, with short hair.

Why do I feel like I'll look back at this in a couple of years and laugh? Ah, well. This isn't truly about me, anyway. Today is the 40th birthday of my friend, and I wish her all the enjoyment a day may hold.


*More on that later. Maybe.

**Okay, the idea of braces at 40 isn't all that delightful.

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Ahhhh

A monstrous conflagration roaring fire in the fireplace.
Football on the TV.
Fantasy Football on the computers.
Dogs cuddling.
A cocktail or two.
Good friends, sharing.



A damned near perfect weekend.

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no, No, NO

A brief aside while a guest was on the phone.

W: Remind me later to tell you about [my boss's] great nephew.

S: Her right nipple?

WTF?? If you knew my boss, you'd know why I gagged.

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We're Expanding Our Horizons...

Instead of being embarrassed by the number of beer cans in our recycling bin, we're now chagrined by the abundance of beer cartons in our trash. (I'm not sure if the pizza box helps or hurts our image.)


Whatever. Good times.

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