What Idiot Contractor . . .

. . . Puts tiny white tiles with white grout in a bathroom floor? Obviously one who has never had to clean it. Seriously. It may look good up front, but it sucks to clean. The cleaning is made ten times worse by the fact that the contractors walked around with grout on their feet, and did not bother to clean it up. So translation: no matter what I do, how long I scrub, I cannot get that floor looking clean. So I have given Gas Monkey a few choices on remedying the situation.


1. He can tear out the floor and put in a new one (I give this to him as an option so he can see how much more reasonable the other two are).
2. He can re-grout the floor with something darker, like a tan or a gray. At least that way it will look better.
3. He can clean the base of the toilet after every time he pees, and be responsible for cleaning that bathroom forever. (another option to make his see the reasonableness of just re-grouting. And somehow he puts up with me.)


Which would you choose?

Wedding Conditions

Ok, I know I've gotten tons of questions about my pending nuptials. However, we've been buying a house, so it hasn't been a priority. Before I begin this list, I'd like to say that I don't really want a wedding. Gas Monkey does not want a wedding. I would rather get to use the money to travel to Europe or Asia or Australia or Africa for a couple of weeks. I know that if I get a wedding, I won't get to have my honeymoon. But without a wedding I won't get a honeymoon either. So either way, I'm doing this to make other people happy (and Gas Monkey agrees, but on a stronger level). So, if I have to put on a show for other people, I am not going to be a puppet. Here are my conditions. I'm sorry this is a very abrasive blog, I'm not intending to offend anybody. It is just the way it is.

1. We don't have a date. But probably in August or September or next year.
2. It will be in Colorado. In the mountains, and outside (I'd like to do Estes Park, Durango, or another place that has meaning to us. But it will depend on the expense).
3. I don't want to spend more than $10,000, period. It is not the greatest moment in our lives, but the beginning of it. No reason to be in debt for a long time or put that kind of burden on my parents.
4. No cake. I don't think the ritual has a lot of meaning. There is always one of two outcomes. If you throw the cake in the face it is predictable. If you don't, you're stuck up. If anybody wants a cake that bad, they can pay for it. I'd rather bob for apples.
5. No God. If you wanted a religious ceremony, perhaps said people should have taken us to church a few times. Or just read the Bible to us. Either way, no religious ceremony.
6. Family needs to get along. I'd love for all three families to be able to go to the reception dinner, sit at the same table, and have small talk, even if it is just about the weather. This is a marriage of not just Gas Monkey and I, but of our families. My family is too small to act as a buffer. I know this is not a whole lot to ask. Gas Monkey and I don't want to worry about other family drama at our union.
7. No destination wedding. I don't want to spend my honeymoon with family. And I don't want to place that kind of financial burden on other people.
8. I hate dress shopping (and shopping in general), but I know it must be done.
9. Small, maybe 75 guests.
10. No dancing. Gas Monkey and I hate dancing. And we can't agree on music.
11. No sitting around making small talk the whole event. I want to do something active, like play cards or softball. I realize this is not plausible. However, I'll take any suggestions that can make it fun, active, and still represent us.
12. Ultimately, to have fun. Like real fun. I hate being the center of attention. I need to be distracted.
13. Please note: I am not a party-planning kind of girl. I'm not the dream-wedding kind of girl. I hate the idea of holding a wedding so everybody can criticize the details. In the end, I don't care what flower arrangements, or what kind of dress I'm wearing, or what my bridesmaids are wearing (they are going to be given a color. Then I'll say, "go forth and be successful").
14. I am not traditional. So don't expect me to be.
15. Gas Monkey is required to have an active role in the planning. If I have to do it and have opinions, then so does he. End of question.
16. There will be no bride's side and groom's side. It will be first come first serve, without any separation.
17. Since it will be a small wedding, the guest list will include our friends (i.e. no friends of our parents/grandparents that we have never met), immediate family, aunts/uncles (and spouses), cousins, grandparents, and in my case great grandparents. But this is not a family reunion. So don't expect it to be. 75 guests remember.
18. I want to have a friend marry us (since there will be no priest). I think it should be one of Gas Monkey's friends, or I'm a supporter of having B do it (not because she is family, but because she is a close family friend, but not a parent, that has helped us out from the beginning), but Gas Monkey needs to help make this decision.

As soon as I have provided acceptable solutions to these conditions then we will seriously begin planning. Gas Monkey feels he is just there for the show. He will be contributing, and he will be a part of of the planning. He's not just going to show up the day of. After all, he initiated the whole thing by claiming to want to be with me forever. And it would be sad to have a husband who got one of his degrees at the Art Institute, but couldn't come up with any ideas.
Now I hope I haven't offended anyone. I realize some of these conditions are hard to swallow. Just remember it is our wedding, not yours. If Gas Monkey has preferences contradicting mine, then I will be willing to compromise. Luckily I have a mother who is very supportive and creative. She is already helping me figure out the details to my liking. But I still need help finding happy solutions. Any suggestions?

Anybody know how to skin a cat?

And as a side note, I think the eerie inconsistencies in the photo are proof of the little boy that sleeps in the crawl space.

Why all Cats should have Tails

So they can keep their noses warm.

Me vs. the Cats

I am losing and not happy about it (yeah, I'm not winning many battles here). Corin has always enjoyed knocking things off counters, nightstands, coffee tables, etc. However, he has taking a passing interest and developed an all out profession. Our cheap alarm clock from Walmart went from working pretty normal, to being extremely quiet, to now screeching in a fingers-on-the-chalkboard sort of way.

The next lovely behavioural development - if there is a glass of anything, he cannot resist knocking it over. Here's the scene. Corin tentatively moves his paw towards the alluring glass of water, in slow motion just to give us enough time to notice, and as soon as we shriek in protest, the glass is on it's side and water/beer/wine/milk/juice is seeping into our carpets or running across the floor. And then Corin looks at us, "What? You didn't think that was fun too?"

While I have learned to babysit my drinks, and have wrapped the alarm clock cord around my bed lamp, the real clincher is the kitchen counters. Corin and Carson have always jumped on the counters, but only in passing. Now, if I leave so much as a fork in the sink, moments later I'll hear a distinct, urgent licking sound coming from the kitchen. I carry my squirt bottle with me whenever I'm eating, but the cats would rather risk it. As soon as they know they've been caught, they squint their eyes, but in a stubborn act of defiance, do not jump off the counter. They are obviously thinking, "Squirt me, it's worth it. If I survive I'd do it again in a heartbeat. Chocolate cake yum yums."

I don't want to be that person who has cats jump on the counter. It's gross. I have to wash the counters over and over to make sure I get all the hair off. This has to be why cat ladies go crazy. As of right now, the probability of the cats surviving the winter decreases ever so slightly with each passing lick of the counter (and as I write this I hear a set of paws contentedly land on the tile floor behind me). I think I might cook Kung-Pao Cat for dinner.

Me vs. Fried Spicy Chicken Sandwiches

And the winner is . . . almost always the fried spicy chicken sandwich. Not that I'm the one eating them, but I usually lose this battle when it comes to Gas Monkey (another reason why he is so gassy).

Ever since I've been home, I've become overly concerned with what we are eating. Let me correct that, with what Gas Monkey has been eating. I am young and have a whole life to reverse the negative effects of my eating habits. Gas Monkey, on the other hand, is almost 30, which means his life is theoretically half-way over (though I will be optimistic and declare my man will live into his nineties, if he starts taking care of his heart, which he still persists to ignore).

Since I came home from Utah, I have been relishing the ability to actually cook. And since I am still unemployed (we'll get to that another day), and most days practically despondent with the whole sick-of-being-home sickness, the highlight of my day, or more like the purpose of my existence, from the moment I get up until the time to do dishes, is to plan and execute a night's dinner. The ultimate goal is to enjoy a good meal and provide leftovers for Gas Monkey to eat at work, so he does not end up buying three spicy fried chicken sandwiches which make him gassy. I usually spend about 2 hours actually physically making dinner . . . from scratch. No mixes, no shortcuts for me. I have nothing better to do than waste hours of my life making homemade pasta that Gas Monkey appreciates briefly and then goes on to recollect his grandma's amazing homemade pasta (translation: my pasta is almost as good as Grandma's).

I cook dinner almost every night. For example, this past month I have made chili, homemade meatballs with homemade pasta and homemade french bread (an all day ordeal), stuffed peppers, lemon chicken, pumpkin cookies (not for dinner), falafel from scratch, pork tenderloin, and his favorite, tequila-lime chicken. And I made my first successful batch of homemade white bread without using my bread machine. Take that. Still, after all my gourmet dinners, the boy chooses to eat spicy fried chicken sandwiches. Why?

Another issue I take with Gas Monkey. He does not ever, and I mean ever, drink water. Water! He'll drink coffee in the morning, 100% sugar-free grapefruit juice (and he goes through a gallon every couple of days . . . gross) in the afternoons, and beer in the evening. So the new ritual. I make him drink a very large glass of water every night before bed. He does it, but he doesn't like it. And while he drinks it, I think to myself, "what a controlling b$tch I am." But it is good for him.

Being home has made me lose my sense of humour. But thank you Spanky Bottoms for working me down and get me out of the house. You don't know how much I need it.

So if you're ever wondering what restaurant or fast food place has the best fried chicken sandwiches (although he'll sometimes eat grilled ones to be "healthy"), ask Gas Monkey. He is a bona fide connoisseur.

The Little Boy that Sleeps in the Crawl Space

Gas Monkey and I have been living at our new house for about two weeks, and we finally have internet. Phew. I'm so behind on updates, someday I'll pick up on what you've been missing. But for now, let me describe our "friend."

Our house was originally built in 1953. So it is almost 60 years old. Occasionally strange things happen. First, I used the garbage disposal, and something metal was in it. I had been using the dishwasher with no problems for about a week. I reached my hand in, grappled around and found a small screw. I threw the screw away. The next day, I turned on the garbage disposal, and something metal was in it again! So I reached my hand in, grappled around, and pulled out, yup you guessed it, a screw. I threw it away. The next day I woke up, and went into the kitchen to clean it up. I could not find the dishcloth. I briefly thought about looking in the hamper, but I knew that was giving Gas Monkey just a little too much credit. What would be the next logical place? I know! The garbage disposal. I gingerly looked down the drain, and surprise surprise, there was the dishcloth. (I realize I have a cat that likes to knock things off of counters and tables, but for the sake of novelty, we'll say it was a little "spooky." And as I wrote that last sentence, Corin knocked over an almost empty glass of milk on the counter, just to prove his point.)

Later that night, Gas Monkey and I filled the dishwasher (but left it off because it was not full) and then went outside. When we came back inside, the dishwasher was inexplicably on! Around this time I began calling any unexplained occurrence a result of the little boy that sleeps in the crawl space, since Gas Monkey found a toy horse below the house. So we blamed it on the little boy.

Finally, it was Halloween. I made my scarecrow, carved my pumpkin, and had my candy all ready by the front door. The doorbell rang. I sprang into action, opened the door, but there was no one there. What kind of brat prefers tricks to treats on Halloween? I mean come on. Throughout the rest of the night, little kids would come, and every so often the doorbell would ring and nobody would be there. At first we both thought it was a doorbell ditcher. But it went on for five hours, and we never saw anybody running away. When we turned our light off because we were out of candy, the mysterious doorbell ditcher disappeared.

It has been a week since Halloween. The little boy that sleeps in the crawl space still doorbell ditches me every now and then. Other than that, lately he has been a very good little boy.