Hi Ho, Hi Ho

So, since the man has departed the abode, I am left to do the fixer-uppin. I'm rather enjoying it, quite frankly. I've been working at painting every surface I can, because when I really looked around here, it was pretty wonky.

The living room is blue, but the entryway was never painted to match, s it's tan, with remainders of the old border still in there. The dining room was cranberry, but was painted tan a couple of years ago -- but the hallway still had one wall that is cranberry. The kitchen was painted green around the same time the dining room was, but the back hallway was still the original yellow the kitchen had been.

In short, my eyes were burning.

The outside of the house was painted blue a couple of years ago. It's always been blue, and I've never been enthralled with it. I decided to paint it as well, but when I did a walkaround, figuring that there would be minimal prep (since it was just painted by the man, and he's a painter), I found that there was exposed wood on the back porch that was peeling the paint, because it was never primed underneath, and worse yet, there is all kind of rotting siding on the sunroom.

I may've said a bad word or three.

So a couple of weekends ago, we ripped out the rotten stuff, which left exposed insulation which, oddly, had been installed backward. ::sigh:: Did I mention that this whole thing has been a learning experience? So a friend of a friend told me what I needed to do to make it right, and I went to Lowe's to get the stuff. Side note: the people at Lowe's are VERY helpful to the clueless.
So I bought this styrofoam-y sheathing that was maybe 8 feet long and 3/4" thick, without thinking about the fact that OH! I have a Toyota Camry. Not a van. This was gonna be an interesting trip home.

Luckily, I had bought some rope for a clothesline at the same time, so I thought I had it in the bag. I found out I was wrong, when I went out the doors of Lowe's and the wind gusted. I was pushing a cart, while carrying the sheathing in my left hand. The wind caught underneath it, it flew up like a sail, and almost took off to parts unknown. I couldn't grab it quickly enough because of the cart, so I struggled to get the whole thing under control without losing my cart into traffic. A couple of Latino men were crossing the parking lot, and one headed toward me, presumably to help. It was at that point that the styrofoam snapped. The Latino man looked rather crestfallen, as if to say "oh man, you just broke it BAD," but I just laughed and said "oh well, I can still use it and maybe it will fit into my car." He just looked at me like I was nuts.

So I got to the car and tied the sheathing on the top. This was no easy feat either, since I was alone and the wind was gusting like mad. It threatened to fly off a couple of times, and I think more than one Lowe's customer was amused, watching my antics. I finally got it tied down and headed home. Slowly. Not on the interstate. I realized a couple of blocks down the road that the car behind me was WAY behind me, as in, maybe trying to avoid me distance, so I stopped at the gas station on the next corner. Said car ended up following me in and drove by me very slowly, looking at me once again like I was crazy.

Sure enough, it was loose and threatening to fly off, so I tied it down, this time more securely, and headed off again. The same thing happened: the too distant car behind me, and a stop a couple of blocks away. This time I found that the sheathing was tied down better but was still loose, and the rope was now digging into it, causing long grooves to be cut into the side.

I wasn't going to be able to tie it down any better by myself, and I had nothing to lose, so I took it down -- it almost flew away again -- folded it into thirds, and shoved it into the back seat of my Camry.

When I got home, the wind had died down. I never saw another gust like the ones working against me, but it didn't matter. I won. And you know what? That busted up, groove filled sheathing is firmly ensconced in the side of my house, and it looks just fine.

Wind=0. Lisa=1. I win.

Minnesota or bust

Every once in a while, I have a package in the custody of the USPS go AWOL. I'm not sure what they do with them, but I push 'em across the counter and they go into the great beyond. I'm also a firm believer that some transactions with customers are just cursed.

So I had a cute little swimsuit pattern that wanted to go to Minnesota a couple of weeks ago. Where it is now, I'll never know, but apparently it changed its mind en route, because it's not been seen again. After a couple of emails between me and my customer, I decided it best to send her a new copy. And in trying to really have my act together, decided to mail it tonight.

Now, I live in Indianapolis, not too far from downtown, where there is a self service post office that's open 24/7. I try to go down there whilst the light is still out, but I tend to be there in the evening nonetheless, so I always try to take a male presence with me, like Dan. Or Thomas. Or even Seth. Well, tonight, Dan was otherwise occupied, so I decided to go by myself -- something I haven't done in a long time. It's kind of nice to have a second person there when you're mailing a lot of stuff, because it gets a little cumbersome otherwise. Dan and I (and Seth, for that matter) have a system down that goes like clockwork, so we get in and out pretty fast. There was even one night where we had a little tutorial with a newbie who was mailing a ton of stuff.

Well, the system went out the window tonight, because I was flying solo. No biggie, right? Well, I put the first package on the scale. Went through the steps, all the way to the stamp coming out. Only the stamp didn't come out. Just one little corner of it stuck out -- not enough to grab on to. The dilemma.......if I did it wrong, the stamp was going right back into the machine, to the tune of $8.50 or so. So, I did the prudent thing and used my credit card to try to coax it loose. That promptly sent it in further, so I got out my work ID, which is thinner than the credit card. POOF! The whole stinkin' stamp disappeared.

This was right about the time that a man walked in and gave me a very strange look. Now keep in mind, I am not a small person, and I am pale as a ghost. I was standing there in my ratty old short white shorts, a zip front short sleeve hoodie (new, at least), and Dan's flip flops, with my iPod ear buds in my ears, listening to Green Day at full tilt. And I was dancing, more than a little, because who can listen to Green Day and not dance? (Note to self, perhaps dancing caused the inverted stamp. Don't dance at the post office.) Anyway, said gentleman asked what was going on, as he put his mail into the box. He already had stamps. He suggested that I put a key in the machine and maybe that would work.

I think he wanted me to die, because I'm thinking that putting a metal key into an electronic device while it's plugged in is not the best idea. Maybe he was a serial killer. Or a cannibal.

I was seriously unhappy because the machine wouldn't let me cancel the transaction, which meant I was charged almost $9, but I couldn't get the stamp I paid for. Finally, in walked a guy in a security outfit, who asked what was going on. He got out a penlight and somehow got the machine open enough to free that stamp, then wandered off. I was pretty sure he was the stereotypical "friendly" security guard from the movies, who comes back and kills you and carts you off in pieces, but he never came back. He had a bag of chips in his back pocket. Maybe he waits till after dinner to kill people, but he got me my stamp, so I was happy. Even if I wasn't dancing at this point.

One package down. Next, I had to mail a package that contained Jill's birthday presents to her boyfriend (YAY! Apparently she's not going to be a cat lady after all!). That went without a hitch. Whew! Maybe I'd get home in one piece after all, but it was getting dark and I wanted to get the heck outta dodge. Next package was one pattern, going to a person in Burbank, California who, from what I can tell, does indie films. Maybe it's for a movie, I don't know, but the package deserved its own plot, because once again, the eject button wasn't working and the stamp didn't bother to emerge at all. And a metal door flipped down in front of where it was supposed to come out, like some kind of force field that says "not tonight, lady." The monitor assured me that I was not being charged for the transaction, despite the fact that the machine was now out of order. Good God. And I still hadn't mailed the Minnesota swimsuit that was the whole reason for me being at the post office in the first place.

I was mulling over my dilemma when in walked a lady wearing jeans shorts, a decent tan, and orange Crocs. I got no small amount of satisfaction in knowing that at least if I was gonna die, I wasn't gonna die in orange Crocs. And I was gonna die listening to Green Day. I could see the headline: "Braless albino woman dies, clinging to self serve machine, while 'Do You Know the Enemy played on her iPod." Irony. Yep, that'd be me. I told the orange shoe lady that the machine said it was now out of order, because I was trying to be helpful and not let her go through the problems I'd had.

She walked right up, got two sheets of stamps, then looked at me like I was an American Idiot, and strode outta the post office. Good heavens. I decided to try again, this time starting with that swimsuit pattern, against which I was planning to win the war. That package was going to Minnesota, come hell or high water. I got all the way through the process and held my breath. The stamp came out with just enough of a corner sticking out that I could grab it.

I put it on the wrong envelope.

Had to go back and print another stamp for Minnesota, then figure out how to get the postage right for the other package without paying for the whole thing. I only needed 17 cents, for heaven's sake, because I'd already put $2.07 on the envelope. I had to give myself a tutorial on how to print partial postage from the machine, but I finally got it done and went out of there as fast as I could, because I really just wanted to get home. Got to the car right as a man got out of his car across the parking lot. The now dark parking lot. Be careful, I was thinking, because although I'm not a truly paranoid person like some of my friends, I am careful. I was thinking to myself, "he's on crutches, and Ted Bundy used to use crutches to rope 'em in, so wouldn't that be crazy if he is faking it. And I don't have my cell phone, so there will be no pinging of my phone to trace my lifeless body when I'm lying in a ditch somewhere."

I probably need therapy.

It was right about then that I realized that the guy was probably about 80. He was also missing a leg. Yep. Legless serial killer. I wonder if that would be a first. And I wonder -- could Ted Bundy have figured out a way to fake an amputation? I was still pondering that one when I cranked up the Gaga and took off for home.

Next time I need to go to the post office, someone's going with me. And let's hope that the swimsuit makes it to Minnesota, cause I'm not sure I can go through this mess again.

Movin' on Up

I think I've mentioned that Thomas is moving out. He's getting his first apartment, and he's pretty pumped up about it. He came down the other day and asked me if I'd help him pack. I shivered at the thought.

I told him he should start with his clothes first. Do the winter clothes now, and save what he needs to wear this week till later, but bring down the dirty clothes, cause I didn't want him packing away dirty clothes. "I don't have any dirty clothes," said the heir to the throne. Sure. Right. Those of you who have read about his laundry in the past know that it is a thing to be feared.

I went up to his room, and was met with the normal view -- floor covered with clothes. I pointed to one pile and asked, "what is that?" He said "oh, those are dirty." "So you DO have dirty clothes up here. What about these?" I pointed to the pile next to the other one and asked "what's up with these?" "Oh, those are clean." Just exactly how he could tell the difference is something that only a nineteen year old boy would know.

I folded a few things and got him started, then left him to his own devices, telling him to bring the dirty stuff down. A little bit later, he comes down with half a hamper of clothes. I told him that no way was that all of it. He said "well, you don't want it all. There's a LOT." OK, now we're getting to the bottom of it. I told him to go back upstairs and toss down the dirty stuff, cause I was doing laundry, and wanted to do it all at one time. The result was an avalanche of clothes that darn near could've knocked me out, and completely blocked anyone from the stairs.

::sigh::

At this point, I yelled up "throw your sheets down, too." "WHAT," he replied. "THROW YOUR SHEETS DOWN." I gave up all hope with the response:

"I have sheets?"

News from My Orbit

We recently had our hardwoods refinished -- as usual, a long involved process that included a dog jumping through a bedroom screen, but hey, that's how we live around here. Happily, as soon as that ratty carpet came up, I was able to get off all my asthma meds, so yeah, hardwoods are good.

Flip side is that I told Dan I wasn't turning on the A/C until the ducts got vacuumed, cause I knew that they had to be full of sawdust. I scheduled an appointment with Hoosier Air Solutions, after a very interesting conversation with Dana, the owner. Nice guy who knows his stuff, so I felt good going into this. Felt even better when the tech showed up on time and ready to roll, had a USI shirt on (that's where The Brat is going to school in August), and was seemingly an equally nice guy. We were off to a great start.

So I was showing said guy around the house, when he asked to see where the furnace was. I was walking downstairs to show him when I heard the back door open and who should show up but Dan's brother. Four dogs, two cats, two teenaged boys, a brother in law, and a HUGE vacuum cleaner was going to, I knew, make for yet another interesting day in the land of Utter Chaos.

Brother in law said he needed to use our internet connection, cause his laptop wasn't working at his sister's hours. Fine. If there's one thing that we do well around here, it's internet connection. Basically, if our internet connection went wonky, I'm pretty sure three of us would have to be committed, so yeah, coming to our house to use our connection isn't any big surprise. Since James is doing a class online, he really needed to get a good connection, so he plopped on the couch and started working.

He got to the website and his computer froze. He was not happy, as this is a problem he's apparently been having, and a couple of reboots later, things weren't looking up. I told him to borrow Dan's, but he kept trying to reload the site, without success. This set off a bit of a fit that involved some yelling at the computer and slapping of the keyboard, and ended with Dan's laptop in his lap. Great. He set off to working on his class, which happens to be medical terminology -- right up my alley.

Dan had told me some time ago that he was doing a medical terminology class, but when I asked Dan why, he said that he was working toward being a medical transcriptionist. Whaaaat? Even Dan couldn't explain how a deaf guy could be a transcriptionist, since that is 100% taking dictation, which usually requires hearing, but if anyone could work it out, it'd be James, so fine. When he showed up to work on his class, he mentioned he's working on being a medical biller and coder, which makes MUCH more sense to me. Thought I was losing it for a minute, but James explained it much better. And although James lip reads, and speaks fluently, I'm sure that his normal vocabulary isn't 100% what ours is, but he's doing great in school, with a B average.

So there I am, sitting on the couch, working on my website, and James is working on a "reverse translation," which meant that he had to translate a paragraph from laymen's terms to medical-ese. You know, this is probably not the easiest thing to learn how to do, but imagine if you can't hear any of what's being said -- definitely makes things a bit harder. Well, he got stuck on something and needed help, so I started trying to explain it to him. Suddenly, I hear this whining that I thought at first was James' hearing aid, till I realized no, it was just the big ole vacuum starting up again. Cool. Cool, that is, till the dogs realized what was going on and started barking like rabid animals. James just kept talking and reading from his book to me, totally oblivious to the caucophony, much less to the fact that I couldn't hear a doggone word he was saying.

That's when it occurred to me: I'm sitting on the couch, dogs barking, big vacuum sucking out the insides of my house, trying to teach Latin to a deaf guy, and I'm the one telling HIM that I can't hear him.

So yeah, that's life in my orbit. How's yours?

Meantime, I'm too lazy to shop for vintage today, so just check out the Hoosier Air Solutions website, cause this is a good way to make life suck, but in a good way.

Viva Las Vegas: Ground Zero

Sorry to have ditched you for a few days, or did you notice? Had to watch the inaugaration, the Lost came back, then I had to go to Chicago to bond with the sister (who claims that she has somehow missed out on life because she's the middle child. Whatever.)

When last I blogged, my car had been painted, but on the wrong side. I told the car people that I'd bring it back to get painted on the RIGHT side when we went out of town the next time. Turned out that that took almost a year. Hubby and I decided to go to Ebay Live, to get a tax deduction, and a trip to Vegas, where we'd never been before.

Tickets bought and all, when we suddenly have a rainstorm that looks like Pete Rose has finally had his vengeance, because baseballs are raining outta the sky. I was on the fifth floor, at work downtown, and watched the whole debacle, thinking the whole time that yep, my van was out in it. Ended up looking like a huge golfball with all these little dents all over it.

So yeah. Now it not only had to go in and get the repainting done correctly, but also get the hail damage fixed. I called and made an appointment, reminding the shop of what had happened the year before. I was a little surprised that they didn't remember, but hey, these people didn't paint the right side of the van to begin with, so what else could I expect, I guess.

The morning we were to leave, we drove out to the car place with both vans. I get into Dan's van and he informed me that he needed me to call and order him a phone, because he had dropped his phone in his cup of Starbucks when he left the house, and now it was dead. This is the man who has run over his phone, dropped MY phone in the toilet, lost one to a can of paint, and on and on, so I don't know why I was surprised. He needs his phone for business though, so I figured if I got on the horn right away, he'd have a new one by the time we got home from Vegas.

Called T-mobile, and finally got through to a real person -- ever navigated their menu? It's a nightmare. So there I am, explaining the perils of Starbucks to the customer service rep, whilst Dan drives us all back to the house to get our luggage. Right about the time we got up to the Pizza Hut on the corner where we were, a lady pulls out in front of the van and WHAM! Hits it. Everyone screams in the back seat, Dan starts yelling about it all, and I'm still on the phone with the guy from T-mobile, who asked what happened. "Oh, we just got hit by another car," I said. "Oh my gosh," TmG (T-mobile guy) said, "do you need to go?" "Heck no," I said, "you stay right there. I don't want to have to navigate that menu again. Everyone ok? Yep. Keep going."

So there I am on the side of the road, ordering a cell phone, with the kids remarking how mad their dad is gonna be, waiting for the police, whilst Dan talks to the lady and her husband. Cause yeah, that's how we roll. It all worked in the long run, because the new phone was there when we got home.

Downside? The fact that the idiot insurance agent never could get the time difference in his head, so he called EVERY morning that we were in Vegas, promptly at 6am. We couldn't get away from it either, because I had to leave the phone on for the kids, in case the house burned down or bones were sticking out, but yeah, that guy never had a particularly warm conversation with me.

And so yeah, if you want to know how the kids survived that trip, hang on. Tomorrow: the paper trail. And if you just flat out want to look at something pretty, dig this gorgeous red taffeta dress, from Fast Eddie's Retro Rags.