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1:38 p.m. - 2010-03-31
Just Wednesday

My keyboard has been a pain in the patootie. The batteries died. It's the only appliance/electronic gizmo that uses AAAs instead of AAs, so there were none in the battery cabinet. I found a random pair of AAAs in the bread box (of all places!) and stuck those in and got a day off them. Yesterday I bought fresh new AAAs and in they went, but random keys are still on vacation, so if something doesn't read right please excuse. The spell-check finds a lot of them, but if the dropped letter(s) don't make a nonsense word I might miss it in the edit. For instance I was writing something last night and the 't' kept dropping leaving 'he' and 'his' in place of 'the' and 'this'. In context the misspelled words almost worked, but were just off enough to make me sound even loonier than usual.

Upshot: All grammar and spelling goofs today are my danged keyboard's fault. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

This keyboard better not test my loyalty too much, we got our Fed refund and the shopping is on, baby. The vast majority of the dough was socked away into the savings account. The charity donations are on their way. And now we have some fun. Of course I am such a tightwad that my 'wicked' spree consists of new glasses, some bras, and fresh essential oils to mix up into my signature stink. But to me spending anything on myself feels wildly self-indulgent, immoral, and possibly even criminal. However with no wedding or honeymoon to pony up for I think I can handle the guilt of buying both glasses and new bras in the same calendar year.

And a new keyboard, dagnabbit. This thing is being stubborn and random as hell.

We are hosting Easter dinner this Sunday and for a wonder SIL and her crew are actually coming. So this means a whole lot of heavy duty housecleaning today. The rest of the week is already completely booked so if I am not to be shamed by my grungy house I'd best make with the cleansers and broom.

And so I have. Kitchen cabinets washed and oiled. I love that rock maple and think it's worth the extra work. Formica and composites might be convenient, but the glow of real wood all gleaming from 60 years of loving care…ahhh.

The foyer is finished except for one last carpet sweep on Sunday morning. The guys are finishing their lunch (turkey and muenster grilled cheese sandwiches) and then after will be tidying up the front porch. Mick will put away all the seasonal crap like de-icer and the snow shovels. YAY! Be gone winter mess!

SIL and her hub aren't particularly house proud and MIL would love me even if this place was a dung heap, to me presenting a clean and pretty house to company isn't about impressing them as it is a gift from me saying, "Welcome! I'm glad you're here and like you enough to spiffy up my house." I certainly don't do white glove inspections of my friends' places, but if I'm invited over for something special like a holiday meal I do feel a bit insulted if their place is a wreck all crapped up with dirty laundry on the floor and moldy pizza boxes tottering on the furniture. The operative here, of course, is the being invited for a special occasion part. If I drop by for coffee I don't give a hoot how sloppy your place is. And would like to think the same goes both ways. Drop by unexpectedly and you're likely going to need to hack a path through the crap and deal with my nekkid face and free-range boobage.

SIL also seems incapable of using the front door. She hasn't been over often, but when she comes she inexplicably comes all the way round the house to come in through the backdoor. Which gives directly into my office. You've got to be pretty damn special to me to be allowed into my office, and I tell you what, SIL does NOT qualify. I put Mick on notice that he is on SIL watch on Sunday and is in charge of making sure SIL and her people come in through the front door. It may sound silly but this little 8x10 swatch of real estate is MINE. It's my fortress of solitude, my sanctum sanctorum, the one goddamn place on the entire planet that belongs solely to me and nobody comes in without my permission. Not my kid, not Mick, not even a cat.


Gah! This glitchy keyboard is making me bonkers. So I'm outta here. ~LA

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