Jul
22
July 22, 2007
Every now and then someone emails me to ask about the Seattle weather, usually because they’re considering moving to the area and they want to know if it’s really as bad as people say. I have no good answer for this, because weather is one of those subjective things, and also because the weather here is so hard to describe. It’s definitely dreary and wet for many months out of the year, but not relentlessly so: in between those days you get the kind of weather that makes you happy to be alive: clean, crisp, unspeakably beautiful. I usually love the weather in the Pacific Northwest, it’s mild and the air tastes good and your skin never gets peely.
HOWEVER. It has now been raining for like a MILLION DAYS IN A ROW (okay, maybe five? BUT STILL), and it is JULY FOR FUCK’S SAKE. It’s stiflingly warm outside which makes everything humid and repulsive, like a panting dog’s breath all over your body, and our yard is a swampland filled with mud and probably alligators. I am TIRED of the rain, and the stickiness, and the amount of collateral damage that can be caused by one toddler with wet dogshit smashed into his shoe.
To be completely honest, I think the rain and the cabin-fever feeling are freaking me out because I’m looking ahead to February, when I’m going to be mostly trapped inside with a newborn and a toddler, oh my god, oh my god, that is going to be crazy. I mean . . . jesus. What were we thinking? Are we out of our goddamned minds?
Whoo. Ahem. See, that’s what a million several days of rain in the best part of summer can do to you. You should move here, because it’s awesome, but bring some Prozac. Oh, and a raincoat.
Preferably one with a frog on it:
By the way, am I the only person left on earth who hasn’t been gripped by PotterMania? I read the first couple books and enjoyed them just fine, then just sort of forgot to read the rest. I feel like I should finish the series, because clearly I’m missing out, but it seems like a dangerously slippery slope . . . one day you’re cracking open your first book, the next you’re drawing a zigzag on your forehead and camping outside of Barnes & Noble. Basically, I’m the clueless dolt in the back of the crowd at Jonestown, going “Hey, where’d you get that fruit punch?”
Jul
19
July 19, 2007
I just want to say for the record that my husband is sometimes an exceedingly thoughtful lug. For instance, last night after I flopped onto the couch with a giant tired sigh, he wordlessly queued up the latest recording of “So You Think You Can Dance”, a show he would probably normally watch only if the alternative was death by toenail-pulling. And he watched all of it with me, even the judge commentary with that woman whose teeth look like the grill of a Mack truck.
In case that sullies his reputation as Cavemannish Male, though, I should also point out that later in bed he asked if I wanted to “hit it”. Then hastened to assure me he would brush his teeth beforehand, should I so desire.
(Note to anyone hoping to get a little late-night action: brushing your teeth before the Smooth Proposition greatly increases the odds of receiving a positive response, rather than a deflating cackle of disbelief.)
:::
In thrilling remodel news, here’s what our kitchen currently looks like:
That’s looking in from the living room, to a sawdust-filled expanse where once there were walls and cabinets. It’s very strange to see all the way to the end of the house. Also, I’ve given up on trying to stay on top of the dirt. Our house is a dust-choked hovel and there’s nothing I can do about it.
We still have use of our stove and fridge, but without cabinets or countertop power we have a temporary kitchen storage area in the living room. Which Riley has not yet pulled down on his head, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.
This alone is going to make up for all the hassle: the beams on the left indicate the new kitchen wall — the back of the fridge shows where the previous wall was. That’s going to make a huge difference in our tiny kitchen area.
Riley is oddly unimpressed by it all.
Probably because he’d much rather be lying around naked with a good book. Hey, I know I would.
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