PICTURE PAGES!

So you asked for pictures of my project... Here we go.

This is a view of the steps leading down to my back door... See that horrid paneling? Yeah, that was the first thing that absolutely had to go.


Here's the main spread of cabinets. They were awful, but simple enough in design that I figured that something could still be done with them... Oh, and see that horrendous formica backsplash? Yeah, that had to go too.


TA-DA! A little blood, sweat, and a day or two later, that shit is toast!


Oh, fear not, I ripped out the continuation of both paneling and nasty backsplash on the other side of the kitchen too!


What was that? You said you want to know what was under the paneling? And you're laying even money on the option that it was commercially adhered to a mega-high-gloss fire engine red paint? DING DING DING, WE HAVE A WINNER!


And with that, the demolition work was complete... (This is roughly when the fire happened so we had a five month hiatus in the process...) Once all the other restoration work was complete, that kitchen looked extra raggedy by comparison, but the contractor did make sure that the walls were sanded flat, primed, and painted... But that was really the least of my worries. There was still plenty to do, and that wall paint would need some touch-ups before all of this was said and done anyway. So I proceeded to take the cabinet doors off the hinges, scrubbed those bad boys down, used wood filler to fill the holes from the old hardware, pre-drilled new holes for the new hardware... Then I sanded out the worst ridges in the doors, and on the frames, de-glossed them all over, primed them, painted them, re-hung them... did minor touch-up work, and BIBBITY-BOBBITY-BOO!

This is what you get!

Get ready, because here's where you find out for just a couple hundred bucks, and a lot of personal patience, BOOM GOES THE DYNAMITE!



Sink and dishwasher area:


Lower cabinets and new floor:


Fridge and bar station area:


Down the back steps to the back door:


And the main spread of cabinets near the stove and sink:



And with that, I patted myself on the back, because THAT--my friends, is what a job well done looks like.

Home improvement never really ends...

So, after five months of hotel living, during which time my house was full of various contractors, construction workers, and carpenters, you would think that there was nothing left to do with regard to home improvement. You'd think that once we had the leak in the breakfast nook under the bathroom and another month and a half of contractors in and out re-plumbing, dry walling, plastering, and painting would REALLY have knocked everything out and left me with no projects to tackle... WRONG.

You see, the kitchen had just been replastered the week before the fire. I had ripped out the horrid paneling and stripped out old wallpaper, and the plasterer had been finished with his gig less than a week before all hell broke loose. No kidding. It was still freshly primed and awaiting paint, I had planned on painting it that weekend, but the fire was on a Thursday afternoon... And firemen with all their equipment and such were not expected to be particularly careful while running in and out to deal with the problem that was my burning house.

The contractor who saw that the fire damage was repaired also made sure that the kitchen got repainted, so that was a nice little bonus. But when all was said and done, the cabinets were as old and shabby looking as ever, because they weren't damaged enough by smoke to warrant replacing. And so I have done my homework and figured out what I want done, and purchased some supplies so that I can make my kitchen as sexy and sleek as the rest of the house.

For the record, the prep work (arguably the most important part) has been a HUGE pain in the ass but I'm hoping that the results justify the leg work in the end... We should know for sure in a little over a week or so.

A new obsession...

Ok, so let me tell you about my latest obsession... Aside from playing a dozen or more games of Words With Friends at any given time, and every episode from the series "House" (regardless of the fact that I own all the seasons on dvd and have seen all of them multiple times...)

This is an obsession of the nerdy sort... (My favorite brand of obsession, really.) And no, I am not about to launch into a dispassionate argument on the merits of "Star Wars" or announce that I am becoming a "Trekkie." (That is just a little too nerdy for my particular tastes... But I still love many people who love them, so I try not to frown on either too harshly.)

Background:

I don't think it is a secret that the best writers are avid readers. So many authors give interviews that will tell you just that... They dive into the written words of others, and that assists them with knowing how to tell the story they want to tell... Or how not to tell it. (I am sure I've read an interview or two where an author implied that they don't generally enjoy reading other people's work because they don't like how the style of others then creeps into their own work, or that they are so often annoyed by the way other writers don't tell the story the way that the author/reader thinks they should.... But for the most part, the best writers are hardcore readers too.) I don't labor under the delusion that anyone puts me in a category with "the best writers." I do, however, contend that I know how to paint a specific picture using the written word. (I've been told I am a glorious verbal story teller, because I have the added benefit of intonation and flailing hands and bodily gestures, but I digress...) I attribute whatever skill I have in either capacity to the fact that under normal circumstances, I am a voracious reader. (I read too slowly for my own liking, but it's only because I take a certain kind of joy in absorbing every word and turn of phrase, and I know that the writers and editors who had a hand in the final product I get my hands on carefully chose specific words and phrases for specific reasons, and frankly, seeing the intertwining threads come together to make the whole greater than the sum of its parts is just awesome... I also make notes in the margins of books I read multiple times, much to the dismay and disapproval of the few people to whom I trust enough to lend said books... But that's a whole other can of worms.)

That said, I have a decent sized personal library. It has been a big problem every time I've moved, because boxes of books are generally pretty damn heavy. It was heart-wrenching to have to throw out many of my books after the fire because they were just beyond salvaging because fire, smoke, and water are not friends with books.

I generally have a pretty steady lineup of books waiting in the wings for ready consumption when need of a new tome arises, but occasionally I do run dry, and while I love rereading books, more often than not, I just crave new input. In those instances, I turn to my friends, peers, family, whomever I trust as far as being a bankable opinion on things they think I'll like, and I ask for suggestions.

I admit that occasionally that I have been steered wrong, and I've found that even among books that somehow mysteriously land on the bestseller list, not all of the suggestions are my cup of tea... But those instances of misdirection are rare. For the most part, my trusted resources give me a push in the right direction.

The last time I put out a call for suggestions, I got a suggestion that I was a little leery to invest my time and money into pursuing. Among other suggestions that I took under advisement, a friend of mine recommended "The Hunger Games" trilogy.

For those of you not familiar with this selection, it is a trilogy of books primarily marketed to the "tween," teen, and young adult demographics. This alone had me worried. (I have had too many people tell me that I "NEEDED" to read the Twilight books with such fervent ardor even when I wasn't asking for suggestions that it was more than a little annoying. I still have people stare back at me with their mouths agape when I say that I haven't read the Harry Potter books. I just wasn't interested in either one, and then my best friend, and most trusted resource told me that her sister had cajoled her into reading one of the twilight books, and my theory was confirmed. She reported back that despite all the hormonal teenage adoration, they were poorly written, and bordered on intolerable. The titles of the trilogy, "The Hunger Games," "Catching Fire," and "Mockingjay" further concerned me. I was underwhelmed with the idea of reading fictional a book about teenagers and hunger. I had seen the titles on the shelves at the book store, and had been so underwhelmed with my mental concept of them that I never even bothered to pick them up to read a dust jacket to see what the fuss was about, even though they were on the shelves reserved for best sellers for quite some time. Pursuing the issue further by asking my friend about the initial premise and finding out that it was about a girl who volunteers to take her sister's place in the literal death match known as "the hunger games" had me ready to write off the suggestion as just ludicrous and banish the suggester to the reject pile, never to be heard from again... But then I decided that since I had the book budget to replace those lost in the fire, and I could always pass it off to my kid sister who is a full decade younger than I am, I might as well give it a shot, if only so I know for sure whether or not to trust that particular person's suggestions ever again.

I am pleased to report that I was pleasantly surprised. I started the first book on Wednesday and finished it Thursday night. Friday night and Saturday morning were spent on the second book. Sunday was the third book... (Mind you, these books are about 400 pages a pop, and I am not a speed reader.) I just couldn't put them down! They were simply irresistible! I admit to being shocked at how well written they were. They were interesting without being overly complicated. They were exquisitely paced and suspenseful. I just couldn't believe how engrossing they were. I barely moved all weekend aside from eating, breathing, and turning pages. (And when you've got things to accomplish on the weekends, spending a whole one in a stationary position, reading books marketed to teenagers is really indicative that they are something special.)

So nearly 1200 pages and an otherwise wasted weekend later, I loaned the books to my mother, and she has found herself equally engrossed. She has told me that she is mad at me because now she can't get anything done in her downtime either, and she finds herself fighting sleep to squeeze in one more chapter.

The first book has been turned into a movie that comes out later this month. While I admit to being obsessed enough to lose a whole weekend to the books, I won't be one of those silly folks standing in line waiting for a midnight showing. I won't be in costume when I do eventually go see it, and I ardently hope the movie lives up to the image I created in my head as I was reading... Though based on the previews, I don't think it will disappoint... But then again, many movies do no justice to the books that they are supposed to be based on. So many of my favorite books have been absolutely AWFUL movies, despite stellar casting, properly sized budgets, and best intentions, so I know it is in the realm of possibility.

We'll see.

Dropping like flies

In the wee morning hours on Sunday, my grandmother bought the farm... And no, I'm not getting a pony.

If any readers, (I know I've got a couple of stalker readers who loom in the shadows, in addition to my one bread-based commenter,) know about or share in my love of the show "The Walking Dead" then you know what I'm talking about when I say we are not planning on keeping her in the barn. I know my jokes come off as callous, and that I am trivializing the demise of someone who was very dear to me, but but please don't misunderstand. In addition to the fact that humor is how I cope with unpleasant situations, she had been very very ill for a long time, so I've had some time to come to grips with the fact that this day was coming, and frankly, I am grateful that she is no longer suffering, because that is what her life had devolved to.

I feel like all I seem to do around here anymore is report bad news and unfortunate circumstances. And as such, I admit to thinking about hanging it up and calling it a day here at the happy hour. I haven't come to a final conclusion yet, but I feel like I owe it to the few people who still read this garbage to admit that it has at least crossed my mind.

So there's that...

How is that karma thing supposed to work?

So after the plumber left the other day, I figured I might as well go ahead and get the hardware on the windows in the breakfast room. While I was up on a chair, working on my pilot holes, I noticed a moth trying to get out.

Trying to be karmically proactive, I cupped one hand over him against the window pane, and used the other hand to unlock the window so I could let it out... Little did I know that during the extensive construction that has gone on at my house, someone manipulated that window so that if you unlatch it, the top half slams down to meet up with the bottom half, rather than hanging out up top, waiting for the bottom half to be lifted. Of course, seeing as I had my hand on the latch to unlock it, the top half of the window slammed down and crushed one of my precious digits... I'm pretty sure that If I hadn't been wearing a ring, I would have a seriously broken finger, because it is still pretty painful to move, and very swollen, and my ring was mangled.

And as I freed my hand from between the top and bottom halves of the window, I watched that little moth fly out into the beautiful sunny day... And then I cursed profusely.

Proving "Normal" is just a setting on the washing machine...

Remember back on new year's eve, when I discovered leaky plumbing? Well, we found the source of the problem after ripping out the ceiling of the breakfast room. It was thought to be a bad overflow valve on the bathtub. Well this week, we had the plumber out to fix the problem. He was here for a few hours, he replaced the valve, and re-plumbed the tub drain while he was at it, and in the process he cut out an old, arbitrary drain trap. It seemed like a pretty straightforward job. And it was... Provided that it had been done correctly and completely.

Needless to say, it would not even be worth mentioning if "correctly" and "completely" were adjectives achieved during the course of the work. Of course, following my life as a grand cosmic experiment in the exercise of Murphy's Law, we know that it didn't go down as it should.

When the plumber cut the drain line to remove the arbitrary drain trap, he left the end of the old drain line open and used new pipe to connect the new tub work to the line down the wall... But here's the thing... The tub isn't the only thing that fed into that drain line. (A fact I discovered the next day upon heading to the basement to work on refinishing a chair.) Yeah... I discovered water in the basement from a pipe that was cut off above the main floor of the house. So, I turned off the water supply to the whole house and called the plumbers.

As it turns out, the bathroom sink also feeds into that drain line, or at least it did, until the plumber cut it off. I waited for the plumber to call back... He didn't. I shut off the lines that feed that bathroom sink, turned the water to the rest of the house back on, in order to minimize the amount which I was doomed to be inconvenienced, and waited... Still the plumber didn't call back.

Knowing that the plumbers are known for charging extra to come out on a weekend call, (a charge that most likely applies regardless of whether or not the problem is related to shoddy work that they did in the first place) and that I'd already wasted a whole day waiting on them anyway, I called back, stating that I had isolated the problem, and that they could wait until Monday to send out someone to fix the line correctly.

So we wait... And carry on about our business, knowing that some other problem is lurking just around the corner.

Waiting for magic...

I have been out of the hotel and back in the house for just about a month now, and while some progress is made every day, I have to say that while progress is made most days, I just keep waiting for some magical wizard to come along and wave his magical wand and everything will suddenly be unpacked and where it needs to be... But I'm not 5, and so I know that wizard is a work of fiction and won't be coming to my door any time soon.

So I continue another grand excavation of the nonsense, trying to figure out why half of it was ever acquired and retained in the first place. Hauling boxes of books up three flights of stairs isn't enjoyable either.

And while I do still have a gaping hole in the ceiling of my breakfast room, the leak hasn't shown up again, so I haven't had another midnight emergency clean-up, and I'm hoping the plumbers will be out to redo the pipes in the next week or two, and then my contractor can come and close up the ceiling shortly thereafter, so I am optimistic and looking forward to the day when it is all settled and back to normal!

Its a process.

Here it is! The long awaited Vegas spectacular(-ish)

(This is going to get fairly long and complex... maybe even a little rant-y, so go potty, grab a drink and come back to me when you're ready for a novella on these shenanigans.)

Ready?

Really? Last chance to go take a lap before we get this cookin' with gas.


Ok... So the last trip to Vegas was just over the top and ridiculous, and frankly the bar was set obscenely high. This trip did not live up to its predecessor, but like any respectable Vegas trip was still a pretty damn good time... Especially considering that we are in a recession, and the lifestyle experienced during this trip is not something experienced by 99% of folks even during the best of times.

First off, please let me say, that given my personal budgetary constraints, this trip is one of those magical events that takes years of careful planning. From my perspective, it is never taken lightly and critical decision making processes are crucial.

Let's begin with a little backstory so you know how all of this works:

I have a wealthy cousin who regularly entertains clients in Vegas, the combination of his wealth and regular visits to Vegas with clients means that when he deems me worthy of the table scraps of what he considers a throw-away Vegas weekend, I know going in that it is going to be one of those few rare rockstar-style events in my life. (I should note that not all of the cousins in the family get those throw-away weekends of VIP awesomeness, I get it because I am awesome, hilarious, and intelligent enough to keep the wit coming even after we're several drinks in... Also because I am untethered by a spouse or children, and I have friends who have a similar lifestyle and mindset.)

So the last time we went to Sin City, I had no idea what I was in for. I had no concept of what this trip entailed, or how incredible it would be. I was simply told, "Hey, you want to go to Vegas? Grab a fun friend. Touch base with me to pick a weekend. You and your friend will need to purchase your airfare and either be on the same flight as I am, or land before me, because once I get there, this show is getting on the road."

I did exactly as I was told. I grabbed the one friend who I knew would be up for anything, my bestie since college, The Admiral, and we got it all set up. --Now there are many reasons that The Admiral is my best friend, and these are coincidentally are some of the same reasons that I knew she was going to be the perfect selection for this new adventure... For starters, the girl is smart, but not just in a bookish way. She is book smart, witty, quick as a whip, and socially aware. She is adaptable and generally ready for anything, because like me, she usually has to plan for the worst case scenario. Also, girl can party. There was no question that she was going to be an all-around, homerun-hitting all-star on this trip. NONE. But that first trip was more than three years ago... She now has a husband and a child, so she was not as readily available this time around.

We got there, we had an over-the-top obscenely good time. We rode around the strip in limousines, we shopped, we gambled, we ate gourmet meals, we drank with reckless abandon, we lounged by the pool, we were massaged by masters of the trade, we danced, we laughed until we cried, and then we got up and did it all over again the next day. And again the day after that... And when it came time to rejoin reality, we became indignant at the idea of having to wait in line at the airport because we'd had VIP access to everything and that level of treatment goes to your head remarkably fast.

Knowing the intense awesomeness of what had transpired, when my cousin asked me if I was ready to go back I leaped at the opportunity and began sorting through suitable travel companions to make this trip as awesome as the first... It was a remarkably short list, made ever shorter by friends who neglected to call me back to take me up on the offer, or declined on the basis that they were in relationships and were uncomfortable going on a trip to the city of sin that was bankrolled by a man that they weren't dating. That list was dwindling to a tiny little handful of elite candidates. Those candidates were carefully vetted on multiple salient criteria until only one remained.

It was a girl that I had worked with during my poorly-chronicled adventures in the Deep South. She was adorable and sweet, but with an unconventional wild streak, and she had gotten divorced from her douche nozzle husband only a few months ago, so by my calculations she was pretty much fully primed for a wild weekend in Vegas. I gave her the primer for this trip, telling her that copious amounts of alcohol were the status quo, so if she wasn't already drinking regularly to get her liver ready for the abuse it was about to take, she needed to train up. I told her to bring clothes suitable for running around in the casinos during the day, and hot party clothes for gourmet dinners and ass-shakin' in the clubs at night. I recounted detailed stories of the previous Vegas trip so she would know what to expect... And I told her in no uncertain terms that there were certainly expectations that needed to be met. She agreed to come in hot and heavy and ready for action. (I should note that the expectations were pretty low. Drink like a fish, flirt harmlessly with the guy footing the bill, and have a great time living like a rockstar.)

... And then we got down to the day before the trip.

I touched base with her to make sure she was really ready, and gauging her excitement level from our phone conversation, she seemed to be chomping at the bit. She was packed and ready to catch her plane and meet us in Vegas.

So I drove to the airport to meet up with my cousin. Our flight was canceled so we were bumped to the next direct flight. In addition to giving me a feeling of impending doom, this delay gave us a few hours to kill and we were arriving a couple hours later than initially planned, but in the grand scheme of things it was a minor adjustment. Her flight went off as scheduled, so she was going to be waiting for us to arrive for about an hour and a half... A really small sacrifice in the grand scheme of things when you know what this weekend really entails. So during our downtime, I gave my cousin the basics on my friend. So far so good.

So we caught our later flight, and sat behind a bachelorette party of girls who thought they belonged on some reality show about spoiled housewives who complain about how horrible their lives of leisure really are... There was an obnoxious dude who hung out in the aisle hitting on all of them during the whole flight while mentioning his 4 children. Basically, the guy had no game, and no chance, but he was trying anyway and while I would've been really annoyed under other circumstances, I was headed to Vegas, and nothing was going to rain on my parade.

We landed, collected our luggage, I found my friend, made introductions, and we found our limo driver who was already waiting for us. Everybody was all smiles and ready for action.

We arrived at our fancy hotel, and checked into the penthouse suite. Keep in mind that this is probably a $2000 a night suite in a brand new NINE BILLION dollar hotel and casino. This is one of those ridiculously posh rooms that you see on travel channel shows featuring the best of the best. The curtains, the TVs, the lighting, the temperature, the sound systems, hell... even housekeeping and other hotel services were all controllable from a little bedside touch panel. And that's not mentioning the fabulous appointments of the bathrooms, or the actual beds. (During the trip, I think I actually described the bed as being like, "...sleeping on a cloud, while being softly serenaded by choirs of sweet cherubs, as unicorns frolic in the meadows..." (Yeah, it was that good... But we've got a lot of ground to cover, so enough about the room and the beds!)

So we quickly changed clothes and went down to dinner at an Asian-fusion restaurant in the hotel. We had a couple of mojitos, and dined with a little friendly getting-to-know-you chatter, with me as a helpful facilitator during any lulls in the conversation, and everything was proceeding exactly as it should.

And then we went out to one of the ridiculously-long-line-ridden hot nightclubs of the moment, where we were rapidly escorted directly around the long line to the VIP area for bottle service and the royal treatment... This is roughly where things started to go off the rails a little bit.

We were seated in a great little VIP nook with two other tables, and initially we were the only VIPs in this particular little section in the otherwise packed club, but that wasn't to last. We got situated with our table, our cursory alcohol in obscene quantities for a three person party, and we chatted a bit while techno-heavy club music pounded around us. The club was already pretty full considering we had gotten such a late start, but since we were alone in the VIP nook so far, we had personal security escorts to the ladies room which my friend needed to use roughly every 10 minutes, much to my annoyance, since she seemed incapable of going alone even with the benefit of the security escort... But again, I tried not to be too put out, because it was her first time there, and her first night, and after all, I was in Vegas, what was an extra trip or two to the restroom when everything else was so awesome.

Throughout the night, the trips to the restroom got a little ridiculous though, seeing as my friend was scarcely drinking at all, meanwhile my cousin and I were both knocking back drinks and doing the shots placed in front of us like we were had just spent a week lost in the Mojave. Of course, as far as my friend was concerned, she was nursing her one drink like she could only get grey goose on war ration coupons and any time there was a shot put in front of her, she not-so-subtly dumped it into the cocktail she had barely put a dent in and proceeded to ignore the task of consuming it like it was her job. (Really, that was her only job during this trip... Drink like a fish and flirt a little bit with the guy who is footing the bill. That's it, and neither one was done.) It should further be noted that she wasn't abstaining because she doesn't drink, I've seen this girl put it away and need to be carried home... She just wasn't drinking.

My cousin tried to loosen things up by periodically throwing bottle-service chocolates at us, aiming either for our mouths or cleavage, (aim was debatable). And that provided a few laughs, as did the giant electronic glow sticks that were distributed into the crowd by the club staff... And the rest of our laughs came at the expense of the other two parties who were seated on either side of us now in our little nook.

To the left was a group of about 7 twenty-something European men who had NO GAME WHATSOEVER, (more on that in a moment,) and to the right was a group of roughly 5 standard American douches who CLEARLY were in over their heads financially when it came to the commitment involved with being in VIP. (This was indicated by lower-level alcohol selections on their table, the fact that they tore through them, and then sat with a dry table, periodically passing out on the bench seating, before stiffing the waitress... And the fact that at one point they actually told my cousin that they were strapped for cash just to get the table and tried begging him to keep them supplied with alcohol.) The European contingent tried using the VIP seating to their advantage, as is customary for a grouping of men in VIP... So they lured in a bevvy of hoochies and club rats with the promise of a free drink. They danced with the girls and apparently within about 15 minutes of hooking them in, directly asked for blowjobs and other sexual favors... Not even the Vegas club rats were falling for that nonsense, so the ladies cycled in and out fairly rapidly with their free drinks and that put a rather sizable dent in their limited table service supply, so they were out fairly quickly as well. (I should note that at some point during all of this, it was noted in our conversation over the thumping club music that it takes genuine effort to get arrested in Vegas... For real. You have to try hard to end up being arrested... This isn't so important now, but it becomes important later.)

After they were through, a gentleman in early fifties and his twenty-something companion in a sequined getup were seated in their place... They alternated between sucking face, and her intensely ignoring him while perusing the club, presumably for more age-appropriate companionship. But by the time they were seated, we were winding our party down. My cousin and I were drunk and my friend had done little more than make unnecessary bathroom runs watch the ice in her drink melt, so I assume she was still sober.

We headed back up to the suite with our glow sticks and our inebriation and called it a night. I had a long steam in my fancy shower, and crawled into the cloud bed to sleep it off until morning.

Saturday morning rolled around, and I was a little hungover, but not unbearably so... and after a fantastic room-service breakfast in the cloud bed, we decided to do a little shopping since my friend, (henceforth to be known as the wet blanket,) determined that the clothes she brought were not sufficient for the level of party we had going on... This despite my directly telling her what she needed to bring. So we dressed, got in a limo, and headed out to the forum shops at Cesar's Palace to see what we could find. She spent more money than she wanted to (and she wasn't shy about letting me know it) on a dress and shoes that were club-appropriate, --a completely avoidable expense if she had bothered to listen to me when I had told her in advance what she needed to pack... Once that was done, we met up with my cousin for a late lunch at KGB where I had what was probably the single most delicious burger I've ever had, even though I could only eat half of it. We walked around on the strip for a little bit, so that the wet blanket could get a feel for the real grit of the Vegas strip. (I was hoping that this might inspire a little gratitude by showing her just how good we really had it on this trip... As compared to a trip spent playing the nickel slots eating bad 4.99 rib-eye at the cheapest all you can eat buffet we can find, while constantly having flyers for hookers and a free lapdance at the Spearmint Rhino thrust at us from all directions as we walk to and from a tiny single room at a Holiday Inn... You know, just for the sake of argument.)

So we got back to the hotel, put away our shopping bags and started planning our evening and had a quick little nap. Dinner was to be at Shibuya at the MGM Grand. (Keep in mind, the EPIC trip to Vegas we had the last time, we stayed at the MGM, and the casino host who handles my cousin for the MGM took a shine to me, so any venture over to the MGM meant we would be seeing said casino host, who still has the hots for me.) Dinner consisted of a 7 course gourmet sushi and Kobe beef tasting menu that was just insanely good... I would try to explain it course by course, but it was all just melt in your mouth little bites of heaven that defy description.

After dinner, we went to Studio 54 and were seated in an odd little setup in the VIP section that was away from all of the other tables and right ON the dance floor and roped off from the rest of the public. (Trust me when I tell you, this was not what I would consider an ideal setup when dealing with the dance-floor-going public of Las Vegas, Nevada... But I wasn't the one sponsoring this shindig, so far be it from me to complain.) So we were dancing, my cousin and I were drinking, and the wet blanket was continuing her ridiculous sobriety challenge in typical wet blanket fashion.

Being that we were only separated from the main dance floor by a thin black rope on three sides, we had people pretty consistently leaning over trying to get the invite to sit with us and have a drink. I was repeatedly approached by the same skeezy creeper and I continually gave him the brush off, (not because I felt superior at all, but because he gave me the creeps and again, I wasn't paying for this shindig, so it wasn't my place to go inviting people in). The guy tried me repeatedly, tried the wet blanket a couple times, and even tried to get in good with my cousin, perhaps hoping for a male-bonding moment. Fortunately, my cousin wasn't buying into that creeper's creepiness either, so he took to kind of dancing off to one side hoping another opportunity to get in would present itself. So we kept dancing and drinking, and the wet blanket danced a little in the outfit that she had spent too much on earlier in the day, and continued avoiding consuming much alcohol at all... (Seriously, if I'd had a baby bottle, I'd have just poured her drink in with no qualms whatsoever.)

So while my attention is focused on the non-drinking efforts of the wet blanket, I see that my cousin is in something off an across-the-VIP-rope-tussle with creepy guy and what seems to be creepy guy's friend. In a surprising turn of events my cousin went into super-alpha-dog-if-someone-doesn't-stop-me-I'm-gonna-rip-your-face-off-mode... (It should be noted that while my cousin has what I would categorize as a large and colorful personality that occasionally rubs some people the wrong way, the vast majority of the time, he is a very mild mannered guy. He is not one to get into fights or start up drama that is unnecessary. He keeps his cool better than I do, and I'm not known to fly off the handle without REALLY significant provocation.)

Seeing as we were in VIP, our account of the events apparently carried more credence with the club security who was on the scene in no time flat and promptly put creepy guy's friend in cuffs and escorted him out of the club with no questions asked... Or at least that's how it seemed from my side of the table...

I had no clue what had just happened... We went from zero to 6 security guards in no time flat and within a couple of minutes we were back to enjoying ourselves and the two creepers were gone, so I carried on, completely unconcerned with what had just transpired.

(For the sake of continuity, I will go ahead and tell you now what happened, even though I didn't get all the facts for another 24 hours)

Apparently the creepy guy and his friend were trying to get into VIP by chatting up my cousin, and he was being fairly cordial until the creepy guy's friend (Creeper #2) decided to make a statement that upped the ante, so to speak. Apparently Creeper #2 decided to tell my cousin, "I'm going to fuck your friend." To which my cousin replied, "Oh, really, which one? Because I haven't seen either of them talking to you." And Creeper #2 pointed to me and said, "Her, and it doesn't matter that we haven't talked... I'm still going to fuck her."

Yeah...

So now we know why my cousin went all alpha dog and didn't tell me until WAY after the fact. He was being all protective of me, and didn't want me to worry because he wanted me to enjoy my evening. (While the rape threat is certainly concerning, the protectiveness and concern for my enjoyment of the night out certainly gave me a big ol' case of the AWWWWWWs!)

So after more ridiculous dancing and drinking for my cousin and I, and more mysterious non-drinking from the wet blanket, we pretty much closed down the club and then headed back to our hotel to crash for the night.

The next morning my cousin and I were pretty hung over, and so room service breakfast was really all we could muster the energy for... He went back to bed, and proceeded to spend his Sunday betting on the NFL games from bed. Meanwhile, the wet blanket and I went in search of souvenirs for all the suckers back home. We were gone for most of the day, but upon our return, I was not surprised to see my cousin still in bed, nursing that hangover and streaming two games to his computer with another 2 games on the TV. We chatted for a bit, he mentioned that he had a 90-minute "man facial" down at the spa later, and that we should plan on dinner after that.

So the wet blanket and I got a quick nap in, cousin got his "man facial" at the spa, and we got ready for another night out.

We headed out to Julian Serrano for a dinner of assorted exquisite tapas and the second best mojito I've ever had. Over dinner we discussed the plan for the rest of the evening. My cousin informed me that we were going to make a quick trip to a club which signified how the wet blanket felt about him... So we headed off to "-5" which is a club constructed entirely out of ice. (He and I thought it was quite funny... The wet blanket didn't seem too fond of the joke.) So we get to -5 and are instructed to check our shoes and evening bags, and suit up in big boots, gloves, huge fur coats, and we were given souvenir "trapper-style" hats to keep our ears warm. And then we went into this strangely small "club" where there was music playing, a bar made of ice where a bartender took our orders from a limited selection of over-sweetened drinks which were served in glasses made of ice... While we waited on our drinks, we were told to go ahead and have a look around at the rest of the place, which consisted of several ice sculptures, walls of ice that were lit from within, and, an ice luge for shooters if we were so inclined, and several seating areas all constructed from ice. It was neat, and it made for some really cool pictures, but it was clearly not someplace where anyone not on staff was intended to spend a large chunk of time... It was really more of a novelty bar than one designed to get you in and keep you there and spending money.

We took a few pictures, drank our overly sweet drinks and moved on.

At that point we went to the Cosmopolitan and did a little gambling at the blackjack tables. It would seem that luck was not with us, as we proceeded to watch our dealer turn more 20s and 21s than I ever would've believed possible. Shortly thereafter, my cousin left us to play the slots for about 45 minutes while he tried his luck in the high-roller section. After which time we regrouped and he sent the wet blanket and I off to the hotel while he sorted something out with his casino host at the Cosmopolitan, noting it shouldn't be long and we would decide what to do when he got back.

So the wet blanket and I took a cab back to our hotel... which was really within walking distance, but seeing as it required crossing several lanes of Vegas weekend traffic, we took a cab. The cabbie was pissed because apparently he had been waiting in the cab line for something like 20 minutes and since we weren't going far, we weren't going to be a big fare for him, so he audibly groused for the approximately 3 minutes we were in his cab. As we got out and I paid the fare, I told him he'd have gotten a real tip if he hadn't complained about doing his job, but since he made such a production of his displeasure, I was only giving him a minimal tip by rounding up to the nearest dollar. I probably didn't teach him a lesson, but at least he knows he cost himself a real tip (which would have been double the fare).

So the wet blanket and I are back at our hotel. She proceeds to go to bed because she's a wet blanket, and that's what we blankets do. I stayed up because my cousin was only about 30-45 minutes behind us and I was under the impression that we still had further plans... And had the wet blanket held out, we did, but since she went to bed early, when my cousin got back and he said he'd have felt bad about leaving her alone in the room, he and I just sat up and chatted for a while. (It was at this point he informed me about the tussle in the club the previous night.) We reminisced about how much more fun we'd had with The Admiral when she'd come along on the last trip. I repeatedly apologized for the Wet Blanket and he told me he would give me a mulligan on this one, and while there is still the possibility of future trips, a repeat of this shit show better not happen again... And since we weren't going anywhere with the wet blanket in bed for the night, we both decided to just call it a night so we would be minimally fresh for flights out the next day. He had an early flight, while the wet blanket and I were on afternoon flights. He left in the morning without a word, and after another room service breakfast, some gambling on the slots at the Aria, and packing our bags, the Wet Blanket and I checked out and headed to the airport.

Incidentally, the Wet Blanket and I were on separate flights about 30 minutes apart with a layover in Chicago. She asked the airline worker at the counter if it would be possible to put us both on the same flight but her flight was full so she wanted me to ask the same about my flight when I got to the counter. I told her I would, but I totally didn't because I admit to some seething irritation on my part, and frankly at that point I was ready to be rid of her... It didn't matter anyway. I was soon to learn that I was on a full flight as well, and that it was to be the worst flight I've ever taken... (And before you ask, it wasn't bad in the "Oh my god, this flight is going down, we're all going to die!" kind of way... Get ready for this.)

So after a long weekend of living it up like a rockstar in Vegas, (with my seething irritation for the Wet Blanket in tow,) I admit that I was tired and a three hour flight from the rockstar lifestyle back to reality was going to be less than awesome just on principle.

While boarding, the airline staff announced that the flight was going to be 100% full. Naturally, I figured since there was no chance of landing in a seat with an empty seat next to me, I figured I might as well just find a seat relatively close to the front of the plane where I would be able to get off the plane in a reasonable amount of time, and preferably not sit next to somebody who was going to drool on me, or talk my ear off, or otherwise be a bother... So I found a row occupied by what appeared to be a bitchy Jersey girl in yoga pants, with hair as fake as her busted up Louis Vuitton bag. Judging by the fact that she hadn't moved said bag into any kind of storage, rather than the seat next to her, she seemed more interested in her magazine than listening to the announcement that the flight would be full. Ok, so she's going to keep to herself... Good enough. I asked politely if the seat was open, already knowing the answer... But she was being every bit as bitchy as I pegged her to be, and trying to make a stink about having to put her fake-ass bag under the seat in front of her. But at least I had a seat pretty close to the front, and would be able to sleep during the flight... Or so I thought.

WRONG.

So about 5 minutes later, as boarding continued, some random couple asked her if she would move to the row in front of her so they could sit together. She pitched a fit for a few seconds and then moved. Since I was on the aisle, I had to move so she could move and they could get in, which made no sense at all, whatever...Ok, so now I'm sitting next to this random couple... WHATEVER. The couple gets situated, I sit back down, boarding continues, etc.

As the boarding line wraps up, some random businessman with an enormous carry-on bag full of what I assume to be very important files, a computer, some gold bricks, and maybe a Prius, saunters onto the plane and decides that even though there are no seats in my immediate area, he has to hoist this gigantic carry-on into the bin over the row in front of me. But maybe the balance and alignment on that Prius were all wonky because he lost his grip on the bag mid-way through stuffing it into the bin, and ended up dropping it directly on my head... And while I did suffer a blow to the head, I did recall the audible gasp from my fellow passengers as the Prius-laden bag tumbled onto me, and I do recall all the other folks asking me if I was all right, while the douche nozzle that dropped the damn thing just tapped my shoulder, said, "Oh, you're fine," before a second wobbly attempt at hoisting the bag, and then meandering down the aisle to wherever an available seat was located.

Awesome.

So I had boarded the plane just wanting to snooze, now my head is killing me, and every EMT school dropout on board thought they should give me a concussion exam before allowing me to have a nap. So that chews up the first 30-45 minutes of the taxi and flight. Once all of the other passengers in the seats around me were sufficiently convinced I didn't have any diagnosable concussion symptoms or brain hemorrhages, they left me alone. A short while later, I'm guessing about 15-20 minutes later, I finally fell asleep... Only to have that slumber interrupted when a flight attendant dropped a whole box of those little bags of peanuts in my lap. DAMMIT.

So, again I try to get a little nap in... Only now the random couple sitting next to me has decided to whip out the portable DVD player and a comedy flick, and proceeded to cackle obnoxiously at random intervals. Eventually, (I'm guessing about an hour in to their movie,) either the comedy fizzled, or I just got better at tuning it out because I was able to doze a little bit... Until the turbulence kicked in. So then I was awake again... With little hope of sleeping as there is continual jostling, I fruitlessly tried anyway.

Once the turbulence died down, there was about an hour left in the flight, and I finally dozed off one more time. (But don't worry, it didn't last!)

So I guess to signal the start of the final hour in flight, another flight attendant begins to tour the aisle with a tray of coffee. (The more perceptive readers out there can already see where this is going.)

I don't know if the flight attendant merely stumbled, or if there was an air pocket, or what, but as I am just sitting in my seat with my eyes closed, and suddenly there is hot coffee all over my lap and running down my leg... GOOD LORD.

"Oh, did I get you?"

"Uhh, yeah... A bit." (Please note this was DRIPPING with sarcasm, as it was abundantly clear that she had "gotten me")

"Oh sorry. I'll bring you something."

"Yeah..."

"Here is a towel... it just has sparkling water on it, but that should do it, right?"

"Whatever, fine... I can't catch a break on this flight anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"All I wanted was a nap, and all I've gotten was a giant bag dropped on my head, a box of peanuts in my lap, a whole lot of turbulence, and now hot coffee all over me."

"Oh. Well, um, sorry."

"Fine..."

So the last 30 minutes or so of the flight was unremarkable, so nobody had to die, but of course, once we landed my fellow passengers thought it would be fun to razz me about how awful my experience was as we all waited to deplane.

"Heh heh, bet you can't wait to get off of here..."

"You think?"

"Yeah I hope nobody else drops another bag on you... Since they've put the coffee away."

"Man, you're hilarious."

Seriously, what ever happened to human compassion? When you see someone is already having a really hard time of it, it is considered kind of rude to give them a hard time over what a hard time they are having... Seems a little like kicking a man when he's down... But like I said at the outset, WORST. FLIGHT. EVER.

EVER.

...And the hits just keep on comin'

Well, it has been a week since move-in day, and while I busied myself with the task of hanging new drapery hardware and drapes, sorting through my wardrobe to determine what survived the fire and what didn't, and dragging broken down boxes and other move-in trash out to the curb, it would seem that my home has been plotting against me.

While taking a break from the aforementioned tasks, I headed down to my darkened kitchen at about midnight. While grabbing a beverage from the fridge, I hear a very slight, but very distinct tapping noise.

Water is dripping somewhere.

I check the door dispenser on the fridge... Nothing. I check the kitchen sink, and the connection to the dishwasher... Nada. I turn on the light in the breakfast room where there is no reason to hear any kind of dripping. The floor is wet. The boxes stored in there are sitting in a small puddle. The ceiling is leaking. CRAP!

That ceiling is immediately under the only full bath in the house, and nobody has showered since yesterday afternoon. CRAP.

After placing a cooler under the drip, I shut off the main water line to the whole house, and called the plumber and was told I did all that there was to do for tonight, and that someone would be out to assess the damage in the morning.

I have no idea what I did in this or any past lives to get this kind of karmic backlash, but whatever it was, it must've been a real doozy of a malevolent misadventure.

Basically, 2011 keeps kicking me, and it couldn't resist one last opportunity for disaster before packing it in and calling up his brother, 2012.

2011 can suck it.

I am hoping that 2012 is a much more upbeat and positive year for all our sakes! (Because lord knows I can't handle much more of this crap!)

Moving day!

It is finally here! After 5 long months, moving day has arrived!

My house restoration is complete (well, there are a few minor little touch-ups but those can wait,) and I can move back in!

Tonight's load included all of the clothes in my hotel wardrobe with the exception of my pajamas and fresh t-shirt and jeans combo for tomorrow's labors, all of the books I purchased while I was here, all of the new bedding, even though there are no beds there yet, and some miscellaneous odds & ends that just packed up nicely with other stuff. It seems like a pretty minor thing (and when faced with the task ahead, it is pretty minor,) but hauling all of that crap out of my hotel room, loading it into my car, and then unloading it and hauling it to second floor bedrooms, along with the new TVs and other items I'd squirreled away in a corner of the basement (adding another flight of stairs to the mix) is quite a feat! I am happy to have the help of movers to bring all of the rest into the house, but unpacking it and putting it where it belongs is going to keep me plenty busy. (I am so glad that I have fully recovered from my illness, or this would be literally impossible and I would have to Christmas in the hotel, EW.)

So then comes the hard part. After everything is unpacked I will have to determine what has gone missing, or was damaged and needs replacing, locate a suitable replacement, purchase it, and get it where it needs to be... You'd think that shopping for all new stuff would be fun, but on this level, trust me, it is a huge chore and I don't look forward to it!

Wish me luck! I fear I shall need all I can get!

Delays delays delays...

I've been working on the Vegas novella post, but I've been sick for the last week... And for the record, I don't mean I had a sniffle, I mean I had a nasty flu bug that rendered me useless and bed-ridden for the week. I literally only got up long enough to get an occasional drink of water, go to the bathroom, or puke that drink of water back up so hard that I peed on myself. (Really... I have no shame at this point.) I am not talking just a little tinkle like if you were to sneeze really hard... I'm talking puking my guts up so hard and continuously that I made a puddle... It was ugly.

And this week's delay is that I get to move back into my house on Thursday! So my efforts will be focused on getting some extra real work done so that I can devote home time to unpacking my life and resettling into reality outside of this stupid hotel.

...But you know me, I won't leave you totally high and dry! Here is the official video for a song that I am totally obsessed with at the moment. (The video is pretty awesome in my opinion as well.)

I'll get back to you when I can.

Back in action.

Before the break, I informed you that I was headed out to attend the funeral of a family friend. His viewing and services were the Tuesday and Wednesday immediately prior to Thanksgiving. When you're talking about the untimely demise of a young and seemingly healthy friend who was like family just days before a very family oriented holiday, and watching him be buried in the plot immediately above the sister you lost just over a year ago, you know it probably isn't going to be one of those holiday events that is memorable for its enjoyment, laughter and togetherness. It's far more likely that this is going down in the books for being memorable for all the wrong reasons...

Well, yeah...

So that is pretty much what we expected going in. And even those expectations were exceeded in all the wrong ways.

You see, after Cole's services, we went out to a family dinner because nobody wanted to be bothered with the effort to cook, and we knew we still had to do all the meal preparation for the traditional Thanksgiving meal that was planned before any of this transpired. We all came home from dinner. We all changed out of out mourning clothes into more comfortable attire so that we could do the meal prep in relative comfort. As we are doing the mixing, chopping, and pre-heating, suddenly the family dog starts making loud strange noises. We all go to see what is going on. The dog proceeds to have a massive hour-long seizure and expires.

Yeah... You read that right, the family dog had a massive seizure and died. Because, really, when it rains, it pours.

(I wish I could make this stuff up.)

And that was how this year, Thanksgiving became known as the "S----- Family Holiday Craptacular!"

I've been catching up on the work I missed when I left town unexpectedly to participate in the Craptacular, and I've been working on the Vegas recap for you. I haven't forgotten.

Keep it breezy.

On a break until after the holiday...

I got a call last night from my little sister telling me that I never saw coming. It started with the words that start so many horrible conversations, "...Are you sitting down?"



While growing up, there were 6 of us kids. Five of us were legally and biologically related, and the sixth was a family friend and only child who we regarded as a brother for all intents and purposes. From family vacations, major and minor events, holiday plans, weekend movie nights, to the mundane little errand running and grabbing a quick lunch, the sixth man was always a factor.

Last night, only one day after his 30th birthday, we lost our friend and brother, Cole Spinner.

Only a year and a half ago, when we lost our sister, Kim, Cole was the one who had provided the appropriately inappropriate laughter. He made us smile and laugh in the darkest moments and it was the last thing that any of us thought was possible. But that was Cole; when there was nothing to laugh about, no redeeming moment in sight, Cole made it ok to be ok for a moment. Cole was the glue that held a lot of us together, and while we are better for having known and loved him, the world is a worse place without him in it.

I will be on hiatus for Cole's services, and the holiday. I hope that you and yours have a wonderful holiday, and that you hold tight to the ones you love, and that you don't take them for granted. Be thankful that they are there, and that you can hug them, and that you can tell them that you love them even when they pester you and make you want to tear your hair out. There will come a time for all of us when that can't ever happen again... Make the most of it while you have the chance. Celebrate your family and friends, and friends that might as well have been family. Love them for who they are. Cherish the moments you have when you have them. In the blink of an eye it can all change and I don't want anyone to miss it.

I promise you! (FOR REAL!)

You already know that I went to Vegas. What you don't know, (because up until now, I haven't told you,) is that I am back.

There is a post coming on the topic, but it took me a couple of days to recover, a couple of days to process my experiences, a couple of days to house/pet sit for my brother, a couple of days to strip 70 years of paint off of some doors in my house, (because the contractor was wanting to chuck them and replace them with some non-matching modern doors, because he didn't want to "waste time" with stripping them... And I was having none of that, so I did it myself) and it is taking a few days to put this post together because it is epically long. If you want it in installments, I can break it up and post what I've got so far, but I think full comprehension and absorption requires a dedicated mini-marathon of reading the events in text... It might be spectacularly boring to you since you weren't there, but you can stop any time. I won't even be offended, in fact, I won't even know! That's the beauty of internet anonymity!

Basically, this post is to let you know I survived Vegas, there is a post coming, but it is taking some time because I'm trying to make reading it even a little bit comparable to experiencing it, and that takes a little extra effort.

Sin city bound!

I leave for Vegas in the morning.

Basically, I am cheating on the hotel I live in with a better hotel that I only see when I take fancy trips out of town... And I have no remorse.

I scheduled this trip before I knew the misfortune that would befall my home, and after living in a hotel for more than three months, you would think that driving to the airport, hopping on a plane and going to stay in another hotel is the last thing I would want to do. You'd think that I would just want to go home and be done with it... And while there is some truth in that, the fact is that I know that there is no going home this weekend anyway, so I am going to live it up in the desert for a few days.

And it is going to be fantastic.

Don't worry, I still love you, and I'll take plenty of pictures and come back with great stories... Of course, seeing as this is Vegas we're talking about, there is a good chance that I won't be able to tell most of the best stories, but still, I will have stories... and surely at least one of them will be worth re-telling to you, and yet safe enough that we don't compromise anyone's confidentiality, because we all know what happens in Vegas is supposed to stay in Vegas.

See you in a bit... You'll probably never even know I was gone.

This is the worst trip I've ever been on...

So nearly three months ago, my house caught fire... and for nearly three months I've been living in a hotel.

There is surely a contingent out there among the masses who believe that living in a hotel for three months would be totally awesome... Those people would be wrong.

The fact is that hotel living is not without its perks. I mean sure it is essentially like living in a furnished apartment. And sure there is a housekeeper on staff to do most of the menial housework like changing sheets, making the bed, vacuuming, taking out the trash, and wiping down the bathroom to prevent unsightly soap scum buildup. Then there are additional perks like the pool and hot tub, which I don't have at home. And all of that is on top of the fact that I can run the heat or the A/C as much as I want without having to worry in the least about the utility bills, while the A/C and furnace at home are both turned totally off, keeping the actual utility bills down to levels so low that the utility company actually called to ask if they could check the meter because the usage was so minimal. That's all lovely and all good... But let me illustrate for you the flip-side of this situation... At least the flip side as I see it... (Because I admit to some quirks that not everybody out there would totally agree with.)

First off, I can't cook a decent meal. That's not to say that I don't possess the skills to assemble a meal. I'm saying that the cooking setup going on here is worse than what I had access to in college. I essentially have a microwave, a fridge, and a hotplate. If you can't nuke it or cook it on a cruddy heated coil, you are going out to dinner. Sure the prospect of going out to dinner every night seems pretty sweet, until you actually have to do it... See, I actually like to cook. I like to bake, roast, and broil. I like to steam veggies, I enjoy grilling out back, and I find a certain relaxation in doing so... Also I derive a certain gratification from knowing exactly what is going into my meals. The control over the ingredients of a restaurant meal is minimal at best... I mean sure I can go to a sit-down joint and order a specific meal off the menu telling some baked out high school junior no salt or no mayo, but it never comes out right, and sure it will probably taste pretty good, but I can promise you it won't be prepared in the way I would prepare it, and that in itself is always a letdown. (I can't tell you how many different restaurants I've been to and found broccoli as a side item only to be completely disappointed when I actually get it in front of me... TOO MANY!) Mind you, the bills for all of the dining out have to be paid at the time of service, and the insurance company seems fine with letting those bills stack up so that they can just settle up when all of this is over in one lump sum... Personally, I'm not a fan of overspending on foods that I could better prepare to my specifications and awaiting remuneration at an undisclosed later date. Just give me a full kitchen and a full setup of proper utensils, and call it a day.

Then there is the fact that I actually enjoy a little light housekeeping... I am a stress-cleaner. I get a special kind of relaxation/zen thing going when I am scrubbing bathroom tile, or sweeping the floors. I like changing the sheets and wiping down counter tops. Its not that cleaning is the greatest thing ever. I am not compulsive about my cleaning regimen, but I admit to a certain level of gratification in revealing glossy clean surfaces which were previously soiled or cluttered with nonsense that should have been put away... But I also enjoy REALLY rocking out when I do it, and blaring the music here isn't really an option... This neatly dovetails into my next complaint.

These are not the thickest walls around. If the neighbors can hear me blaring the music, it also holds that I can hear the guest in the next room who happens to snore like a lumberjack, and I can hear the little high school girl upstairs who is practicing all of the jumps in her latest dance routine and the yappy dog going batshit crazy as its owner drags it down the hall umpteen times a day.

I could go on, seeing as I don't have access to any of my personal belongings, aside from the new items I've purchased since the fire... (Items I'm not overly attached to, unlike all of my stuff that has been stored away while the contractors continue to take their sweet ass time getting things done.) I have this weird bed that gives me a back ache because now I'm old and it partially moves off the box spring all the time, and crinkles because of the weird mattress protector they put on it, and all of the pillows suck, and well, I just want my own damn bed and my sheets and pillows and a mattress of an agreeable firmness... Clearly I'm starting to go off the rails here, so let's just say I'm ready to go home.

FOR REAL.

The task that never ends has ended... but you'd never know it!

So after a few weeks of logging, tabulating, and sorting, and spreadsheet-making, the inventory was completed. It was then submitted to the insurance adjuster, who promptly managed to sit on his hands and not do anything with it in the last several weeks. (Thus, I have had little to report.)

After meeting with him earlier this week, he finally admitted that he hasn't really been proactive about dealing with the 23 page single-spaced inventory. He did approve the expense for the new furniture that had to be ordered, (and not a moment too soon because the furniture has been selected for a couple of weeks now, and we've been waiting on approval to order it, because I don't know if you've priced out quality furniture lately, but that stuff ain't cheap! And apparently it takes 8 weeks for construction and delivery... So the earlier that order was submitted, the better!)

The adjuster also cut the checks to our contractor, so progress on the house has proceeded nicely. He did mention that the Christmas deadline might have been a little long, and that at this point it is looking like a Thanksgiving housewarming at the latest. The roofing, re-framing, electrical work, and insulating is all done. The siding and new trim on the upper portion of the house is mostly complete, and the sheet rock has all been delivered. That really only leaves hanging the sheet rock, painting, hanging new light fixtures, refinishing the floors, and moving all of the furniture and nonsense back in... And unpacking everything. I have been slowly assembling a workable wardrobe with what little money the adjuster has elected to throw my way so far and I am uncharacteristically optimistic about how things will go from here on out. I wholeheartedly admit that while the insurance adjuster has dragged his feet so far, he has been good in every other regard and even told the furniture store to just let him know if there is anything else we might need. He has had a pretty good sense of humor and been pretty willing to be reasonable on most any request that comes to mind. (Taking care of the hotel expense directly, handling questions from and paying for the crews that did the emergency work of collecting all of the clothes and other soft goods for cleaning the day after the fire happened, etc.)

I have busied myself with shopping, (a task I used to enjoy, but now find to be a bit of a chore,) office work, and clearing out the crap that was left behind in the basement... (Probably left behind because pretty much anyone can see that it really was crap.) Hauling damp boxes and moldy fabrics up out of the basement and out to the trash has been a nasty pain in the ass, but it was something that needed to be done even before the fire, so now that a lot of the nonsense was cleared out for treatment of smoke and water damage, it has been just a little easier to work with the extra space on hand.

That's really all that has been going on... Sorry it isn't more interesting or amusing, but that's my life at the moment.

The task that never ends...

So in my last post, I complained about my inventory, among other things. As the title here might imply, it is an ongoing challenge and just when you think you're over the final hurdle, the race officials hand down a ruling that says you've got to take another lap or two.

I should note that I'm not complaining about my plight as a means of generating pity. There are few things I find so loathsome as being the object of other people's pity. Even when my situation is bad, and even when I complain about it, it isn't ever for the sake of getting people to feel sorry for me. (I'm the first to admit that there are many people in far worse situations, and that in the grand scheme of things, I have a lot working in my favor.) The primary reason for my whining is generally to inform other people what I've been up to, and why I might be in a foul mood if I should happen to take a harsh tone at some point in our conversation.

So the latest update to the tale is that since the original tally of all the items in the house was completed, the next step in the process has been to take all those hand written notes and convert them into a readable format so that the insurance adjuster can actually decipher and dissect the list, and then decide what is going to be covered when all of this is said and done. A simultaneous hurdle in this step is that as I am typing up the list, I also have to figure out where to find all of the items were when they were damaged, where a suitable replacement can be found, and how much that replacement is going to cost given local market pricing. (Local market pricing means I have the dubious honor of going out to local stores and tracking down items one at a time and listing the cost plus local sales tax.) This is a particular challenge in a house populated not only with my more modern items, but also with a bevvy of antique items owned by my grandparents prior to my arrival. Pricing all my art supplies made me remember just how expensive all those art supplies were in the first place! (For some classes, I now realize that I spent more on art supplies in one semester for a single course than I spent on all of my other course materials for the same semester combined!)

I also get to talk to contractors about the repair process... What I want, what I don't want, what I would like to change since we've ripped out all of the plaster and have to re-frame the roofline and half of the upstairs anyway, might as well make any reasonable changes while they are at their least expensive and most hassle free!

Aside from the list, my life is boring. I pretty much do nothing but work on the list and other fire-related crap every "spare" waking moment. Nothing else to report. Hope you have a great day!

Just a quick update...

So after the recent events, there is not a great deal of new information to report, but here is what I have to offer, most of this is going to be fairly obvious and straightforward, but at this point, that's really all I've got left.

1. Living in a hotel sucks. A lot.
2. Living in a hotel that doesn't include the two channels I watch the most, (Comedy Central and CNN) because they are not deemed "family friendly" and having to get my daily fix of both real news and fake news solely through online outlets REALLY sucks. A lot.
3. Completing a line item inventory of everything you own so that you can submit it to an insurance adjuster for approval SUCKS. A LOT. (Side note: I don't care who you are, or how you live, but I can guarantee you that until you have to do an inventory of everything one item at a time, you have NO IDEA just how much nonsense you actually own.)
4. Completing said inventory in a house where the temperature hovers somewhere around 125 degrees because it has been taken off the power grid so that it can be entirely re-wired (it was an electrical fire, after all,) while the house is full of generator-run heaters and heat circulators in an attempt to dry out the plaster, in the middle of a summer heat wave is more than a little sucky as well.
5. Finding out that the plaster couldn't be saved anyway and had to be ripped out the day after the inventory was done is more than a little irritating.
6. Finding out that the contractors have ordered up a full-blown crane so that they can just cut off the entire roof and put it in a giant dumpster in sections is a strange combination of fascinatingly cool and horribly disconcerting.
7. Watching all of the work that I've put in over the last 6 months be utterly destroyed by the fire, the firemen running in and out, and the water that they used to put out the fire was horribly depressing.
   
8. Homeowner's insurance seems like an expensive hassle... Until you need it... At which point it becomes TOTALLY AWESOME. Spend the extra money on the mack daddy of insurance available to you, because if you ever have a claim of any real magnitude, you want to be able to know that in the end it is all going to be ok!
9. That said, knowing that my house is going to be re-wired to current code, re-insulated to current code, having almost all of my home repair and upgrading projects handled as a result of this incident, (from a new roof, new siding, new plaster, paint, refinished hardwood floors, etc... The list goes on,) is TOTALLY awesome.
10. While it might seem kind of awesome in theory to get to shop for all new clothing, fixtures, and furniture, in practice, when it has to be done ASAP, and all at once, it is a huge headache and becomes a chore much more rapidly than you think.

So that's the update. Now you know.

Well, that certainly fits...

I have long believed that my life was some kind of grand experiment with Murphy's law. I don't think so highly of myself in a religious sense to think that my life is comparable with that of Job, but I do adhere to the premise that most of the time Murphy's law is in full effect, and he is usually lurking around the next corner, waiting to catch you off guard, trip you, and laugh at you as you lay bleeding on the ground.

The latest adventure in the life of Liz is very much in keeping with this lifelong theme.

So what happened now, you ask.

Well, two weeks ago, I went on a nice little vacation to visit my best friend and her new baby for a week, and to help her in whatever way I could. It was a great little visit and a lovely little vacation. At the end of the week, I went to the ranch for my annual family reunion, and it was a great time as always. I came home, returned to work, returned to working on my house, priming the plaster that was installed in my kitchen while I was away, and generally got back to business as usual.

Thursday afternoon, everything changed.

As I was working on some paperwork for my boss, I noticed that the room was getting a little hazy. Knowing how hot it has been here in the Midwest, and that my ceiling fan is not only old, but also had been running for multiple days on end, I figured that maybe the motor was burning out. I went to open a window to vent out the room. Upon my arrival at said window, much to my surprise I see that there is fire in my gutter and on my roof-line just below that window.

Yeah.

Fire.

I grabbed my computer, my wallet, and my phone and I ran out to the front yard. Five fire trucks and four hours later, the upper floor of my home was a charred, steaming war zone, and the lower floor of my home was thoroughly soaked and continuing to drip heavily on pretty much everything that the fire spared. And with that, in addition to a large chunk of my home's structure, a lot of my stuff and 6 months worth of lovingly completed renovations went down the drain.

The fire department determined that it was the result of an old junction box that was over-taxed by the heat. Of course, the insurance company knows that such a ruling would mean that they would have to cut several large checks to contractors and me, so they brought in their own investigator who still hasn't issued his ruling.

So here I sit, in a hotel, in newly purchased clothing, because everything in my wardrobe is either a loss, or stinking of smoke. I will likely not be back in my house until Christmas if the initial time line that I was given holds.

Don't you wish you had my awesome life?