Friday, January 29, 2010

Hi, my name is Tiff

It’s gotten so I don’t even hide it anymore. Time was I’d try to cover up my addiction, pretending to be better than I really am, but now I don’t really care who knows or sees that I can’t go a day without it. What does it really matter anyway? It’s not like being an addict changes much about who I really am, because it’s part of who I am and that compulsion is a bit of what makes me tick.

So no, I won’t just quit a game of Bejeweled Blitz because someone walks up to my cubicle. I won’t even try to hide the screen anymore. They can be made aware of how dependent I am on a stupid 1-minute web game, and if they’re offended? Well, that’s just their problem.

I STILL won’t use the boosts though. I do have my principles, you know.


Purchasing an extra-deep tub for the shower remodeling project was a fabulous idea. I’d show you a picture of it, but that’s not terrifically exciting when all that’s to be had are the catalog photos off the Lowe’s page. Far more exciting is the sensation of soaking in neck-deep hot-hot water, gently bobbing up and down with each breath, watching steam rise from the surface and listening to the gentle lap of wavelets against the UNSCARRED and SINGLE-COLOR sides.

Ah, bliss in a bucket, it is.

Gone is the old partly harvest gold, partly spray-on white finish. Gone is the line of black schlyme at the top of the shower surround, the filthy/gunky hardware, the clunky tub stopper. GONE! Sweet Maria, what relief. It feels GOOD to sit in a tubby now, letting the water gurgle and splash, and even though there’s no real spigot for filling (instead a foot-long piece of pipe pokes out of the wall and shoots a stream of water halfway into the tub, which is kind of cool but probably hazardous on a long-term basis) and even though there’s no shower head (yet!), the experience of bathing is ever so much more sublime than it was a week ago.

We’re officially through the “hack at stuff with the Sawzall” and “rip out yards of trim” and “be grossed out by how truly nasty everything was behind those walls” stage already. Demo is done, now it’s time to put it all back together. Biff is on the job, and I’m wicked proud of him and his skills. Not to be too girly about it, but there is something nice about having a handy dude around the house. It’s fun to watch boys operating power tools!

Yes, dear feminist friends, I’m sure I could do most of this stuff by myself, and in fact HAVE done similar things before, but it’s a whole heck of a lot better to turn the reins over to someone who does reno for a living instead of stutter-stepping through a process in half-blind hesitation, praying that the plumbing doesn’t leak or the tiles don’t fall off the walls three days after install. Sometimes it pays to 'hire' a pro. :)


Also, has it really been since TUESDAY that I posted? Dang. No excuse at all, no reason either (said ‘EYE-ther,’ please), just…haven’t. Something about not having much to say, I’m thinking. Also, Facebook.

And watching the kittens play.

And going to tile shops and lawyer’s offices.

And being very lazy.

Somewhere there's a big black hole that is taking the hours in the day and crushing them down into tiny specks of time, rendering them nearly useless for anything but pursuit of quick pleasures, for that is what one does with infinitesimal bits of chronology – one jams as much fun stuff into them as possible while ignoring most of the drudge work, which explains the giant pile of laundry and the leaves on the kitchen floor.

So much can be attributed to black holes, and with good effect, don’t you think?


Y’all PLEASE have a lovely weekend. We’re bracing for winter weather here, and I’m sure the 2-4 inches of snow that are expected will make it a real horrorshow on the highways and byways. Yee-HAW!!! We'll be watching the news tonight!

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