Jul

11

Chafing

July 11, 2007

After our week of vacation during which there was virtually no forward progress on the remodel, the contractors have responded to JB’s whip-cracking and have descended en masse. We have no ceiling in our kitchen right now, just some dusty, ancient boards and a solitary naked lightbulb dangling from a thin wire. The lighting it produces is indescribably unpleasant, all we need are some splashes of blood on the walls to really make it complete.

The demolition has caused every surface of the living room to be coated with a thick layer of wood/drywall dust, and our kitchen temporarily only has partial power—which I cannot seem to remember, and continually find myself attempting to toast some bread, brew some coffee, or turn on the range, and wondering why in HELL it’s taking so long.

Today they’re doing something exceedingly loud with saws, the kind that make that eardrum-shattering high pitched screeching sound, and the backyard is a cacophony of noise and flying sawdust. This is of course the only place Riley wants to be (“AHTSIDE! AHTSIDE!”), and in the meantime Dog is pathetically terrified of everything—the noise, the tools, the sweaty electrician who said, “Well, it’s all kind of a pain in the ass,” when I said he could leave the power to the range off if it would be too much of a pain in the ass to re-wire it today (to which I replied, “DON’T I KNOW IT”)—and creeps from one location to another, trembling and constantly offering me a paw.

This is all fairly inconvenient, but I am far too distracted by my waistline to get too het up about some pesky remodel annoyances. My clothes are barely fitting, all of a goddamned sudden. There’s this Belly, and it’s starting to make itself known (at nine weeks, which is craaaaaaazy). I fear its potential.

Also, because I’m a sucker for both teaser campaigns and viral marketing, so I give you my latest obsession: 1.18.08.

22 Comments 

Jul

10

Rhetorical

Theoretically speaking, if JB said to me the other day, “Something smells funny in here . . . or actually, I guess it’s just you” then totally denied that there was anything rude about that statement (“What? You smell like whatever you’re cooking! What?”), would that make it okay for me to send him an instant message yesterday that read:

>OMG THE DR SAW 2 HEARTBEATS DURING THE ULTRASOUND

. . . or would that have been rude?

56 Comments 

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