Date Archives April 2011

She’s an angry elf.

Why is it that you need to give an apartment back cleaner than when you got it? In order to properly move out and not incur horrendous move-out charges, I had to paint my apartment back to icky tan from the happy saturated colors I’d painted it when I first moved in. I suspected that it might take more than one coat to cover up what I’d done, particularly in the rich purple bedroom, but I doggedly set myself on the task. After I’d finished one wall and moved on to the next, I had occasion to glance up at the first wall and found it completely patchy, dark in some spots and light in another. “Jesus fucking fuckballs,” I muttered, and went over the dark spots with more paint, evening everything out. Later, I looked up again, and there were yet MORE dark patches in areas that I’d SWORN I’d gone over earlier. “SON OF A FUCKING GOATCUNT” I stalked over and painted these spots AGAIN. Only after the first completely demoralizing day did I realize that the paint dries darker than the can shade and it wasn’t a spotty painting job on my part but the paint drying unevenly. WELL WHAT DO YOU KNOW.

I took out some rage on the walls, anyway.



I’m glad I was able to leave my mark lingering under coats of paint forever or at least until this apartment slips down the cliff and onto the highway below (they still have not fixed the landslide issue from earlier in the year).

Now with the paint and some help from an amazing carpet cleaner called “Folex” (seriously, if they do not have a slogan, I would like to suggest “This shit is magic”), it looks like I never lived there–and this is two years of living with a dog who actively works at defiling as much surface area as possible when he yaks. Once again, this shit is magic. Well, it mostly looks like I never lived there. I decided paying $5 each to replace two oven burners was worth saving the agony of trying to scrub them clean–but other than that, it’s like new!

It’s so sparkly I’m gonna die!

Sometime in March, Jason revealed that he’d purchased my birthday present “months ago”, in an obvious attempt to torture me with anticipation. Trust me, this sort of thing works on me in spades. And lo, I writhed. But instead of just agonizing, I spent a solid month making guesses. Not necessarily serious guesses because I have a feeling he would not lie to me and say I’d gotten it wrong if I’d guessed it right and I’d feel badly to spoil his surprise, but guesses nonetheless. We were checking out at Fry’s electronics when I said “I know–you got me a unicorn, right?” and his answer changed from “Nope!” to “I…uh, will neither confirm nor deny” and I knew I was onto something. I needled him relentlessly. “You got me a unicorn stand mixer? Where it dips its magic horn into the dough and twirls it into bread?” “…Do those exist?” “God, I hope so.”

So, I wasn’t right about the unicorn stand mixer, but I was right about the unicorn. He got me Clarins 230 for my birthday, a long-discontinued nail polish also known as Unicorn Pee for both its rarity and overall magic sparkly qualities. Supposedly the multichrome pigment used to make it doesn’t exist anymore and can’t be recreated, which makes it highly sought-after and not something I figured I would ever own, because hell, even when I was gainfully employed I was not about to drop that kind of change on a nail polish.

I was so excited when I saw the bottle that I did a little dance and maybe had a little tinkle in my pants. I had offhandedly mentioned the existence of Unicorn Pee forever ago and he searched the internet until he found me a bottle. I wore it this entire week, and every time I looked at my nails, I was reminded of how much I am loved.

In sunlight, the glitter looks like dancing burning embers on the nails. In artificial light, the green flash becomes more apparent. This is over two coats of BUTTER London HRH, a red-toned medium purple with blue and red shimmer.

It worked! It worked!

I got home yesterday after finishing painting and cleaning my apartment to the point where it looks like I never lived there save for the hat which fell behind the hot water heater that I can’t figure out how to retrieve, and I was exhausted. Tired, and dirty, and hungry. Too tired to cook. Too hungry to graze on crackers. Too dirty to be seen in public.

So Jason ordered us a pizza, along with some special instructions.

And when the pizza arrived:



I wouldn’t say I’ve been missing it, Bob.

I participate in an online survey program–I like to give my opinion, and I like giving my opinion more so when I am compensated for it. I was sent a survey asking me to watch an episode of a new television program, and for watching it and answering some questions about it, I would be paid ten dollars. Ten dollars!? To watch TV? I’m in!

The show was called “Smothered”, about two sets of grandparents battling over who gets to spend the most time with their granddaughter. As the laugh track chimed in over a joke so stale a decade-old Saltine would be more palatable, I suddenly realized this ten dollars would be very hard-earned. “Very” may not have been an appropriate word. “Excruciatingly” strikes a bit closer to the mark. The show opens on Gillian and Zack, a married couple who have recently had a daughter. Gillian does not seem particularly interested in either her daughter or Zack, and Zack is portrayed as an effeminate, ineffective parent who calls his wife “dude”. (This pronouncement was met with riotous laughter from the no-doubt canned audience.) Gillian’s parents are introduced as down-home good-old Christian country folk, and Zack’s parents are portrayed as upper-crust Jewish socialites who think nothing of long vacations in France. Oh ho ho, everyone! Look, it’s an odd couple! This has never been done before in the history of television! Neither set of grandparents seems to particularly like their own children, but fight over time with the granddaughter, who is essentially ballast. Emotion and personality-free, she could be anything–a doll, a purebred puppy, or even a particularly nice rock. She is a prop intended to demonstrate just how zany and wacky the adults around her are, one set of which sneaks her off to a church to have her christened against her parents’ wishes, and the other set of which had a secret Jewish baby-naming ceremony. There is also a dull sister named Susie who solely exists as a point of universal loathing by all family members. It’s all about scoring points in an attempt to hurt the other set of grandparents, and all of this would be just fine if only it were funny. I can laugh at mean jokes with the best of them, but there was only one joke in the entire episode which made me laugh aloud, an offhand line about serving pork on a Jewish holiday and calling it “Hamukkah”. The rest of the jokes drew rolled eyes and groans, and even an amount of writhing in my seat like a small child, desperately wanting it all to be over so I could get to the survey portion and unleash the seething hatred building within me toward everyone involved in the production of this show. And lo, how my hatred flowed. I hated the music. I hated the characters. I hated the plot. I found them all unrealistic and unrelatable. (There was no option for “I hoped a plane would crash into the set.”) Had I found myself in their unenviable situation, I would have crammed the child back into myself and started phoning around for abortion deals.

And after all this, my time spent watching the show, and my time answering questions about which characters I might like to see more of (none) and which characters I might like to see less of (all), I was informed that the number of survey participants had been reached already and I would not be receiving my ten dollars.

I want my ten dollars. I paid, cast of Smothered. Oh, how I paid.

Your bill is in the mail.

Elvis has left the building

It’s funny–the part of staining the desk that I thought would be the hardest and take the most work (the main body, what with its overall size, thick sealant on the top, and carvings requiring more intricate sanding work) has gone the fastest. It’s sucking up stain so well that I’ve achieved the same color depth in two coats that took seven coats on the drawers. I should be able to put sealant on it tomorrow afternoon, and I need to buy one slightly longer screw for a knob (the wood on that part of the drawer is thicker than on any other drawer) and then I’ll be done! The knobs aren’t quite as cool or unique as bird skulls, but they’re way more functional. Every time I look at it, I get a little thrill because it could have been a disaster but instead it turned out lovely, beyond my wildest hopes for it. Pics forthcoming!

…back to packing.

No piece of furniture is safe from me!

I finished my coffee table:




And I also finished some other furniture:



The Bullet Bill is a subwoofer. The other furniture is to hold games, consoles, and accessories. Just a little over a week until the big move–I suppose I should get back to work!