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My Profile
Fairytales for a Practical Princess - 2008-11-30
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10:57 p.m. - 2004-02-05
I have another political/ideological thing floating around in my head. It’s not quite ready to hatch yet, but it definitely has a sharp egg tooth. It’s been pecking the inside of my brain all day. Hope it fights its way out soon, all this domestica is starting to bore me to snores. However, this will not stop me from reporting in about Hobbit House doings. My living room, like my fiction does sometimes, has started down a completely new path and isn’t turning out anything like I’d imagined it. I’ve been buying decorating magazines for a couple years now. I especially like the small sub-genre/one topic ones from Better Homes and Gardens. Mike and I go through them together. We point to things and apply them to our house. Making adaptations aloud for the other’s approval. “See? Like that, only grey.” We’re surprised at how closely our tastes match. Yes, we’ve been together for over 20 years, but this is the first time we had our own house. Instead of adapting our environment in tiny tenant ways, we’re free to rip up flooring, replace windows, and color the walls any old color we want to. It’s new territory and we’re happy to discover we’re looking out at the same view. Or near enough to find a happy meeting place. One of the things we’ve both sort of grown toward was something we’d repeatedly pointed out to each other in the magazines. We’ve both gone goofy for faux built-ins. They have to be faux, we’re not ripping out any walls. Gads, just getting rid of the horrible wallpaper was nightmare enough. Our original intent to run book rails above the windows has blossomed into basically floor-to-ceiling shelving covering 2 walls. But quirky shelving with a few small closed cabinets, odd niches, and larger openings for paintings. A mosaic of shelves, almost. All tied in with the molding around the windows and pocket doors. The first stage is complete and we’re liking it. To put a name to it I guess you could call it ‘arty/cottage’. Books we must have, but now that we’ve winnowed down a lot of the bumpf, we’ve discovered a pretty decent cache of very personal artwork. My photographs, Mike’s, drawings, lithos, and oils done by family and friends, a few odd things like hand inked maps and temple rubbings from travels in the Orient. Rather nifty, if I say so myself. At the old house we didn’t have to choose, there were acres of walls. 40,000+ books were shelved in open front bookcases and we still had plenty of room for stuff on the walls. Now we have to be more select and couldn’t see giving up one for the other. So the books will wander under, over, and around the artwork. I’m hoping to be finished by spring and will post pics then, I promise. Had enough Trading Spaces? How about this? Why I Hate the Tylenol Capsule Poisoners More Than Ever. It was them. Those sick swine who started this whole mess. Because of them we are now trapped in Protective Packaging Hell. I hate those lousy poisoners. I hope wherever they are they are suffocating in an impenetrable cocoon of shrink-wrap and jar seals. Today it was a jar seal. A tiny one. I was making a corned beef and wanted to shake a few red pepper flakes into the pot. It was a new jar. I absolutely could not get the shaker-top off to get at the stupid jar seal beneath. I have no fingernails. And don’t own a scapel. I tried 3 different knives trying to find one thin enough to work into the .002 micron gap between the shaker-top and the collar of the jar. No good. Then I did something so supremely stupid I’m still astonished (and still paying for). I stuck the thing in my mouth. At this point I was so frustrated I was willing to gnaw the damn thing off. Yes, you read that correctly. I stuck a brand new jar of crushed red pepper in my mouth. OWWWWWWWWWWWWWW! Yeah, supposedly the stupid jar was ‘sealed for my protection’. That was the problem, right? I couldn’t get the shaker-top off to to peel away the seal, but I’m guessing I wasn’t as protected as I thought. Enough pepper dust had snuck out to do a damage. Basically, my head was on fire. I swear I have no nose hair left. My lips are bigger than Steven Tyler’s and my red weasel eyes won’t stop tearing. I have no working taste buds and my gums are bleeding. Mike said the corned beef was good. Me? I’m thinking I won’t be having any trouble staying on my diet this month. ~LA
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