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October 28, 2008
See? I Told You I Toiled!
Forthwith, pictures of my cleaned out side and back yard. Baby's all sorts of ready for a sod situation come April...
(I have since picked up these branches, glovelessly, because both Steven Tyler and I are living on the edge.)
And here's one of THE DEUCE examining the pile of thorny rose bush detritus I have yet to dispose of:
And here's one of the warm-up coat (cocaine flakes and all) I wore all day yesterday and all day today:
Posted by Bree at 02:10 PM | Comments (0)
What Not to Wear: The Margo/Marie Years
My brother's ladyfriend, Ms. Margo, is featured prominently in Clinton Kelly's latest book,
Posted by Bree at 10:53 AM | Comments (0)
October 27, 2008
New Edition
Two of the nicest, coolest and funniest cats this side of Fresno (as well as the other side of Fresno, come to think of it) just had their son! Andy and Cristina have welcomed home their own wee little one - who is really just too cute for words - named Nolan Andrew. Mwah!!
Posted by Bree at 06:54 PM | Comments (0)
And on Monday, We Rested
This weekend was equal parts exhausting and exhilarating, mixed in a blender and served neat. Matt and I, along with every single other homeowner in the country, spent the waning days of fall busting our humps to get the yard and house ready for the snow. On Saturday, I hauled eight bags of the remaining mulch and landscaping fabric out of my side garden, dusted my hands off and declared the project DONE. As it's too late to lay sod now, it'll have to spend the winter as a mud pit but as soon as April rolls around, my back yard will be DOUBLED in size. Seeing this project through all by my lonesome - and over several months - also has caused the cubic footage of my ego to double in size. So that's nice.
Saturday night, I bitched and moaned and moaned and bitched about how torn to shit my hands were from the process and Matt repeatedly admonished me about my failure to wear gloves. He also dug a splinter out of my palm and advised putting a band-aid on a raw and gaping blister. (My self-care abilities rival that of a seven-year-old's.) So, when Sunday dawned bright and early and I hopped over to some wild rose bushes to cut them down and dig them out, one would think I heeded his advice and threw on some gardening gloves. And one would be wrong. I didn't. I'm a quick study. And now I now have half of one hand and about a third of the other still in working order. The remaining parts are on bedrest.
BUT, while my hands were still functioning, I shimmied up on my roof and helped clean out the gutters, trimmed my butterfly bush, weeded and dug out my vegetable garden, pulled up some alien-looking carrots and shoveled two of the three gigantic and terrifying rose bushes out of my yard. Matt rinsed out my front gutters and, in a feat of strength and bravery previously unmatched, singlehandedly moved my 300-lb. swamp cooler out of my second-floor window and perched it on the side of the house.
To cap off the weekend of fun and flesh wounds, we went to an [UNNAMED SPORTING GOODS STORE] that Matt's cousin manages to pick out my 2007 Christmas/birthday gift of a winter parka. Naturally, I had been putting this off because a. parkas never fit me and b. the whole trying on process makes me hot, bothered and flustered. But, after another winter spent in hypothermic convulsions, the time was nigh. With the help of a nice lady there, I tried on coat after coat that was too short in the arms (womens) or too bulky in the midsection (mens). Finally, my eyes alighted on a beautiful red and black piece of outerwear from Descente, and success was ours for the taking. Silly me, I failed to look at the price tag, thinking it would be in the $200 - $300 range like all the others. Right. It t'weren't. Not to get into specifics, but it most definitely t'weren't. It was a few hundred bucks MORE than my UNLIMITED, FIVE-MOUNTAIN ski pass and, I think, the most expensive coat in the whole store. BUT, Matt's cousin didn't seem to consider it a problem (Matt has done a bunch of work on his house in the past and this was a trade kind of situation) and Matt didn't seem to consider it a problem (he repeatedly reminded me that he now was off the gift hook until 2011) and so! Who am I to make a fuss!?
Hopefully, I'll get my paws on the coat within the next week or so and can show off it's fancy stylings in a photograph. As for now, I have to go soak my mitts in paraffin and try to cellularly reconstruct the pieces I managed to slough off. I also have to figure out just what to bribe my garbagemen with so they take away the 200 lbs. of yard trash I collected over the weekend. I'm thinking ice beer and banana bread but am open to suggestions.
Posted by Bree at 09:32 AM | Comments (0)
October 25, 2008
The Sun Always Shines on Sweet and Bitter
I realize the pretty hilarious take on "Take On Me" above has been around for a while, but I'm posting it in honor of my brother who once upon a time asked my dad what he had to do to get hair like the keyboardist in A-Ha. My dad replied, "A perm, son. You have to get a perm."
My brother, already struggling with the repercussions of wearing a red and black leather Michael Jackson jacket to junior high, thankfully left it at that.
Posted by Bree at 08:48 AM | Comments (0)
October 24, 2008
Analog?
One of my co-workers showed me this yesterday. And, though I thought it was amusing at the time, it has become one of those things that I keep thinking of and giggling about, randomly, when I'm at the dry cleaners or walking the dog. I'm socially viable like that.
Posted by Bree at 02:48 PM | Comments (0)
2005 House
I'm back! The same man from Qwest revisited me and got me all hooked up (via Ethernet) to the router again. (Or, as our Canadian elementary school librarian used to say, "agayne.") I still have no wireless, which really curtails the amount of time I spend sitting on my couch idly scrolling through design blogs, but no matter. The situation is a rosy one, and was made all the better when Deuce got between me and the repairman in my 2 x 2 sf office and cut such a massively foul fart that we nearly had to evacuate. I laughed and kind of played it off, like, "Oh you know boxers...such a never-ending source of exotic smells! HAHAHAHAH!" [insert maniacal grin to mask humiliation at the reach of my dog's intestinal output]. In a few minutes, when our eyes had stopped watering and the mushroom cloud over my house had evaporated, all was well again.
More pointless posts regarding inappropriate levels of consumerism, my dog's anus, my travel schedule, my car repair schedule, my Pilates schedule, my quest for meaning and other bourgeois concerns and observations to come.
Posted by Bree at 01:46 PM | Comments (0)
October 23, 2008
1800 House
Oh my dearest ones. I have a miserable tale to tell you regarding my wretched home Internet connection. The nice man from Qwest came on Monday to try to fix my (totally not working) wireless and, apparently, in the two-hour hoo-haw that went down managed to a. not fix my wireless and b. knock out my DSL line. So now I am without. Another man shall meet me between 10 and 2 in the 'morrow to take another stab at my "Oh...you've got a Mac? Yeah, I don't know anything about Macs" computer connection. Good times to be had by none.
In a depressing twist of coincidence, my Direct TV remote also decided to finally give its body back to the earth from whence it sprang. Thus, lambs, I have been suffering with no Internet or (easily accessible) television service for the past few days now. It makes me feel like taking a giant poo in a bag, lighting it aflame and depositing it somewhere (location TBD) that would really make me feel better about the whole situation. When I figure out where that is, I will let you know. Until then, please understand that I am thinking about you ALL! ALL of the time! Yes, even during those lonely hours spent wrapping twigs in cotton to use as makeshift sanitary devices, refilling the kerosene in my lamps or playing football with a water-filled pig bladder, I am thinking of you.
Posted by Bree at 03:11 PM | Comments (2)
October 20, 2008
One of My First Major Works
Posted by Bree at 06:29 PM | Comments (2)
October 16, 2008
My Very Own Joe the Plumber
Matt's plumbing know-how is the subject of its very own post on Apartment Therapy today thanks to the stylus stylings of one Ms. Jessica B. (of Design Boner fame and Fortuny). As you may remember, I like #11 the best.
Posted by Bree at 09:15 AM | Comments (0)
October 15, 2008
The Story of Bonnie and Clyde
By Bonnie Parker, 1934
You've read the story of Jesse James--
Of how he lived and died;
If you're still in need
Of something to read
Here's the story of Bonnie and Clyde.
Now Bonnie and Clyde are the Barrow gang.
I'm sure you all have read
How they rob and steal
And those who squeal
Are usually found dying or dead.
There's lots of untruths to these write-ups;
They're not so ruthless as that;
Their nature is raw;
They hate the law--
The stool pigeons, spotters, and rats.
They call them cold-blooded killers;
They say they are heartless and mean;
But I say this with pride,
That I once knew Clyde
When he was honest and upright and clean.
But the laws fooled around,
Kept taking him down
And locking him up in a cell,
Till he said to me,
"I'll never be free,
So I'll meet a few of them in hell."
The road was so dimly lighted;
There were no highway signs to guide;
But they made up their minds
If all roads were blind,
They wouldn't give up till they died.
The road gets dimmer and dimmer;
Sometimes you can hardly see;
But it's fight, man to man,
And do all you can,
For they know they can never be free.
From heart-break some people have suffered;
From weariness some people have died;
But take it all in all,
Our troubles are small
Till we get like Bonnie and Clyde.
If a policeman is killed in Dallas,
And they have no clue or guide;
If they can't find a fiend,
They just wipe their slate clean
And hang it on Bonnie and Clyde.
There's two crimes committed in America
Not accredited to the Barrow mob;
They had no hand
In the kidnap demand,
Nor the Kansas City Depot job.
A newsboy once said to his buddy:
"I wish old Clyde would get jumped;
In these awful hard times
We'd make a few dimes
If five or six cops would get bumped."
The police haven't got the report yet,
But Clyde called me up today;
He said, "Don't start any fights--
We aren't working nights--
We're joining the NRA."
From Irving to West Dallas viaduct
Is known as the Great Divide,
Where the women are kin,
And the men are men,
And they won't "stool" on Bonnie and Clyde.
If they try to act like citizens
And rent them a nice little flat,
About the third night
They're invited to fight
By a sub-gun's rat-tat-tat.
They don't think they're too smart or desperate,
They know that the law always wins;
They've been shot at before,
But they do not ignore
That death is the wages of sin.
Some day they'll go down together;
They'll bury them side by side;
To few it'll be grief--
To the law a relief--
But it's death for Bonnie and Clyde.
Posted by Bree at 08:59 PM | Comments (0)
Godspeed, Jenny Lewis
Posted by Bree at 03:05 PM | Comments (0)
Back in the Saddle
After a fairly exhausting reunion weekend (highlights: getting completely locked out of our room at 3 in the morning and moved to another, overhearing "Who are all these 30-year olds?!" at a student party, buying a handmade-by-"Grandma" turquoise Foghorn Leghorn Kleenex holder at Conoco, and catching up with the kids who made my four years at CC such a ridiculous hootenanny), I am back in, as they say, the saddle. Working, smirking and beserking. It's how I do.
The past few weeks have been rough, for some reason. Perhaps the change of seasons, perhaps the global economic uncertainty, perhaps anxiety about all the traveling I've been up to, perhaps the whole "What am I doing with my LIFE?!" saw, perhaps the whole death/disappearance of my cat thing, perhaps shmerbaps. I am ready to turn a new leaf. (Also ready to drink a bottle of Turning Leaf, fancy that.) Excepting the occasional mountain trip for skiing and hot chocolates, I'm firmly ensconced here until Christmas, have figured out a way to shift into the next gear professionally and am finally relaxing a bit. I'm also in the EARLIEST stages (as in, I've thought up the idea and nothing else) of trying to develop a non-profit organization geared towards teaching at-risk teenagers the building trades. Perhaps, PERHAPS they could even put these skills to use fixing homes for elderly, incapacitated or otherwise impoverished folks who are in houses that need maintenance in order for the owners to stay in them or sell them. After all, the last thing Colorado needs is new construction. Since I can hardly be bothered to break a sweat lifting a hammer, this basically means Matt would teach the children well and I would lay back and try to stretch my stomach to its maximum capacity via a diet of pancakes. It's how I do. And he is thrilled with my plan, let me tell you. THRILLED. Especially when I tell him we'll be super-shady and only use 5-percent of the money raised to actually benefit anyone. The rest? Rolling in Lexus. Nothing gets Matt's blood pumping like material items. NOTHING.
Posted by Bree at 01:06 PM | Comments (1)
October 09, 2008
via sunlit skies
Posted by Bree at 12:23 PM | Comments (0)
October 08, 2008
Ah, Autumn.
The sun in Colorado is hot and bright. Even now, when the days should be deepening and the memories of summer should be cleaned, sorted and stored. It is hot and it is bright, reminding me that sunglasses and tanktops have not yet lost their purpose, that dogs will linger in the shade, that there is work to be done now and here. Not for later, but now. And here. While we still can.
These hours fill me with a great fatigue. The endless stretch of process and activity and movement they allow. How lovely it would be to awake to a cloudy and grim morning. Days when work is conducted despite the weather, not because of it. Weeks when men and animals burrow into cozy layers of inactivity, setting aside their tasks and appointments and requirements for a time when things are better.
*****
Posted by Bree at 01:47 PM | Comments (0)
Helllllo Hallows
Matt asked me last night what I wanted to go as for Halloween. I sighed. It had been a long day, full of doubt, self-loathing and the Real Housewives of Atlanta, and I just couldn't summon the energy to think it through.
"I don't know," I said. (But my heart cried out, "Steve Perry!")
Matt, no stranger to my P/T ennui and F/T indecision, kept at it. After a perfunctory glance at my bosoms, he proposed Elvira: Mistress of the Dark, a look many have suggested - or downright accused me of (back in my new to New York/dramatic eyeshadow days) - and I countered, "If I'm going to do that, I might as well go as Morticia Addams. I mean, that's kind of my formal look anyway."
Matt was delighted. After all, it is he who hums the "du du duh dum" part of the Addams Family theme song* every time I bring up my family or some weird practice that we engage in and, as a group, think to be completely normal. Like, you know, living in a nursing home. Or celebrating Christmas on a different day...and at night. Or drinking coffee at 2 a.m. Totes norms.
Next step was deciding who Matt would go as. If we did that *couple thing* and went in a *couple costume,* he'd have to be an Addams man himself. Gomez? Nah...just not quite right. Fester? Better!
Way better! But then we realized he would need a monk's cowl. I jumped out of bed to try on the Dickensian black cape I got last year from my Mom for Christmas (du du duh dum...) but Matt deemed it too short for full Fester-tude. Better, probably, for its long-term sartorial possibilities.
HMMMMMM. We were stumped for seconds until, upon reflection, Matt exclaimed, "Pugsley!" And then - and only then, reader - we both collapsed in par·ox·ysm·s of wonderment and joy.
Oh It's just SO PERFECT. For those of you unlucky enough not to know us, I swear this is pretty much what we look like every day. For those of us who do know us, feel free to send congratulatory cards and bouquets honoring our wit, nay insouciance. It's incestual and it's kooky! Halloween has just taken a drastic turn for the better. And I can wear all my OWN clothes and even my OWN furs (yes, you read that right; they're all gifts from the aforementioned cape-aficionado mother and I plan on bartering them for canned corn and Dinty Moore very soon now), and don't even have to go to the Goodwill. Oh quiver.
*No, not the Hammer version.
Posted by Bree at 12:02 PM | Comments (2)
October 07, 2008
My Internet Reach is Both Far and Wide
After stumbling across the above on Flickr, I quickly e-mailed it to Sorry I Missed Your Party and they deemed it worthy of a post. It would be hard to feel more influential.
Posted by Bree at 08:01 AM | Comments (1)
October 06, 2008
Five-Word Movie Review Monday
Nearly every scene a beauty.
Posted by Bree at 09:50 AM | Comments (0)
October 05, 2008
Intwanet, You Do Me So Right
Oooh oooh oooh! If you're ever been stymied by the lack of pictures on Craig's List, you simply must check out the new site, My Wise Bunny. Simply drill down by city and state, pick the desired item category (e.g., furniture, electronics, etc.) and BEHOLD a page of thumbnails that fit your requests:
This may occupy me for the next two to three years.
Posted by Bree at 05:43 PM | Comments (0)
October 01, 2008
Pandemic
Zahmahgah. Looks like a seller on Etsy is hawking - for (relative) top dollar - the same giant and rather hideeeooz pots and pans I inherited from my Nana. Apartment Therapy's site, The Kitchn, even got in on the fun! You mean I've been carrying these things with me hither and yon for five? seven? ten years now, and waiting - just waiting - for the day when I could finally REGISTER and get rid of them (I am completely self-empowered like that) and they're now in style? This either goes to show that a. the zeitgeist has passed me by or b. I am so far beyond the zeitgeist, I can't even see it in my rearview mirror. 'cause them shit's useful and all but God are they ugly. I will, however, sell the entire set to you.
Posted by Bree at 09:57 PM | Comments (0)
Because I'm Maybe Not Worth It
The problem with buying expensive toiletries is that I buy them, and then don't want to use them because they're far too expensive to waste on days when the only people I see are a. the people who scan my card at the gym or b. the people who come to my door trying to sell me magazine subscriptions or beef. Behold the latest of such quandaries:
I've got this in the shower, right next to my cheapo Loreal 'poo from the grocery store, and find myself reaching for the Lo more times than not. Each time, it's with a justification: I'm just going to put my hair up today, there's no need to impress nay intimidate the clerks at the post office with my perfect mane, Matt loves me for who I am not what I look like (also good for the non-leg-shavey days and days when I eat a loaf of bread by 10 a.m.), et al. And so it sits, waiting for that perfect collision of events when I feel extravagant, have to look top-notch and decide to take a shower. Rare, indeed.
Posted by Bree at 11:13 AM | Comments (0)