Thanks Maidink!

Thanks to Maidink for this one. I've been Simpsonized!

Not too far off my regular photo, eh?

Try it for yourself! Noz, I dare you!

Furniture issues

I'm living in a goddamn furniture warehouse.

Let me explain: I used to have my living room in my dining room. I want to put it back that way. After, literally, months of alternately pleading, cajoling, demanding, and pouting, I finally got the WCM talked around to my way of thinking. Oh, did I mention the 42-inch flatscreen television that I had to pretend to be reluctant to get in order to seal the deal? Men. Why do you make us manipulate you so?

Anyhoo, once I had the WCM talked around, my father, the General, asked me if I wanted a new dining room table. "Sure," said I. "Let's get new chairs!" said the WCM, in a move that stunned us all. Too gobsmacked to resist, I allowed myself to be towed along in a chair-shopping expedition (once again, why do you make us manipulate you? Why? New chairs? Wheeeee!), where six beautiful hand-carved Chippendale chairs were purchased. Give me a moment, I'm having a chairgasm. Oooooh, they're gorgeous.

Unfortunately, their gorgeousness is currently residing in my dining room along with the new dining room table, the old dining room table, a china cabinet, and a buffet. Plus? There's the other incidental furniture that's not really moving, like a blockfront chest and an upright piano. Packed tighter than a Tokyo subway, I tell you.

Oh, yeah, lest I forget and give you an incomplete picture, there's also a massive Georgian corner cabinet in my future dining room. The WCM, carried away in an orgy of spending, decided that since we were divesting ourselves of our china cabinet and buffet, we'd need a place to display our wedding china & crystal. So Ethan Allen supplied us with a corner cabinet of gargantuan proportions - equal in gorgeousness to the chairs. Did I act eager? Hell no! I said "Oh, I don't really remember seeing a corner cabinet (Georgian, wasn't it? Mahogany? Lit within with glass shelves? Hmmm?), was there one there? D'you really think we need one?" So now, I am living with one. I think I'll name him Humphrey and start snogging him regularly, he's so gorgeous. Ok, maybe not snogging. Dusting, perhaps.

Now, there was a company here in Wilmington that was going to take all this excess furniture off my hands, but someone there got her knickers in a twist because I had her come to the house to witness the beauteousness of the old furniture. Ok, it's not incredibly fabulous or hand carved, but it's handsome mahogany Hepplewhite furniture. Bitch said they weren't interested in it. What-evah! Lucky for me, I've got some entrepreneurial relatives who are going to take this off my hands and sell it. At this point, I don't care if I make money on it or not. Just get this stuff outta my house!

I used to have a dust problem. Now, I've got a furniture problem. Help!

Best Laugh at Disney World

Picture this - it's day 4 of our trip to Disney. The WCM and I are up early to hit the early-opener park of the day (Animal Kingdom, I think). The WCM takes no prisoners on his time schedule - he has paid for time at the amusement parks, and BY GOD, NO ONE SHALL MISS ONE SECOND OF THE DEARLY PURCHASED FUN!!! Miss Peanut is still abed, worn out from being dragged through Disney World for the last three days.

As I am the earliest riser - i.e., the one requiring the most work to be presentable in the morning - it falls to me to awaken the sleeping Peanut. I pull back her covers and give her a gentle nudge, saying "Wakey, wakey, Peanut! It's time to go have some fun!"

Miss Peanut, eyes still closed and hair sticking out seven ways 'til Sunday, sits up and mumbles "Does it look like I'm having fun?"

The WCM and I had to hold each other upright, we were laughing so hard.

Ah, Disney World. It's a bitch.

Mouse!

I'm off to see the Mouse in Florida for Miss Peanut's 6th birthday. Don't do anything I wouldn't do (which doesn't leave you a whole lot...).

Behave, and I'll see you soon!

Freaks and Geeks

My day was full of Freak and Geek moments. Lucky you, you get to hear about them!

Freak

So I had to go get some bloodwork done as part of my DS surgery. The surgeon likes to keep tabs on my iron and vitamin levels. Whenever I usually visit the vampiresphlebotomist's, I have them draw the 11 (yes, eleven) vials of blood from the excellent veins in my hand. Why the hand? Well, I have control issues. After suffering from life-long needle phobia, finally allowing my blood to be taken at all is a huge step. If I can tell them to take it from my hand, which is far less sensitive than my inner arm, then that preserves the fragile illusion of control that I have over the whole process.

Today, the dizzy bitch that was trying to take my blood had me writhing in agony in that loathesome gray padded chair. The blood, it just wasn't flowing for her. She had to twist the needle first this way, then that way, then one-hundred-and-fucking-eighty degrees around. Motherfucker! Then she fucking blew out the vein in my left hand and had to move on to the right. At least on that one she didn't use a needle that could have substituted for a milkshake straw. The blood, though, was just as stubborn in my right hand. Did she twist the needle again? Yes, she fucking did. I cried.

She passed me off to another phlebotomist at this point, as she couldn't do it. I was a nauseated crying mess at this point ('cause ouch! my fucking hands hurt!). Phlebotomist Two was a very nice woman who put a cold ice pack on my neck and allowed me to calm down.

While my nausea subsided, I came to the very unpleasant conclusion that I would not be able to take another stick in either hand. It just wasn't going to happen. Where else would they have to stick, but my sensitive inner arm? Nightmare. I was just getting more agitated, so I tried looking at my arms, playing Vein Detective. When I tearfully told Phlebotomist Two that I was afraid she'd have to try my arm, FUCKING VAMPIRE BITCH Phlebotomist One copped an attitude and busted out a "wait, you never even gave me an option to do your arm!" like I was blaming her. At this point, I really wasn't but I didn't appreciate her attitude. I explained, near hyperventilating, that it took a lot for me to even offer my arm and that someone was going to have to hold it down so that it didn't jerk. Two guesses who that someone was, and the first one doesn't count.

After five more minutes of calming down, they tied the tourniquet, swabbed my arm with alcohol, and jammed a fucking claymore through my elbow poked me with a tiny needle. I cried more. It was definitely not my proudest moment.

Geek

The WCM gave me his old laptop when he got a new one, so now I have the exciting task of exporting my iTunes music library from my old craptop to my new-to-me laptop. So here was me with two laptops running on the coffee table in front of me, fiddling with USB cords and my Nano, and actually knowing what I was doing. I've never had a prouder geek moment.