Photo Friday: Before & After

We embarked upon this project a couple years ago. It seems to fit this week's "Before & After" theme.

Before... Our "family room," complete with carpeting:

During: It turns out that our carpet was liberally glued to the concrete floor. Fun!
During, Phase Two: It took an industrial floor sander, many days of scraping, and some potentially toxic chemicals to get the adhesive up. Note to self: do not glue carpet to concrete.After: No more carpeting! Easy to clean industrial surface!

Jambalaya!

I can't believe I'm writing a post about American Idol. I'm not a regular viewer, but I have tuned in a couple times, perhaps driven by sheer curiosity as to how Sanjaya is still on the show. Man, if I knew about the ponyhawk in high school, the hair landscape of Lisbon Falls would have been much, much different. But I digress.

On Tuesday, Brooke and I watched American Idol. I explained (as if I am some sort of American Idol tour guide) how Sanjaya really wasn't a good singer, and that he was hanging on by hair alone. Brooke thought I said Jambalaya, so now that is what we call him. Anyway, we had a reasonable enough time making fun of the judges. Could Randy complete a sentence without using the word "dog"? Could Paula, in what appeared to be a drug-induced haze, finish a sentence? Would Simon call me directly on my mobile? Will the Rebuplicans fire the judges because they're not promoting the party's agenda? America needs to know!

The small shred of dignity I was holding onto was based on the fact that while I do admit to watching the show one or two times, I didn't vote. But then I felt like Bill Clinton. You know, Mr. "I tried marijuana, but I didn't inhale." Who the hell tries marijuana and doesn't inhale? I really trusted him less after that. That reminds me... who's voting for Hilary?

Once again, I digress.

Get a Grip!

Me: The tires on Brooke's car were really bald.
You: How bald were they?
Me: They were so bald, Sy Sperling put them on the Board of Directors for the Hair Club For Men!
You: WTF???

Today I got new tires for the wagon. Because the Jetta was apparently designed by the Crazy Hippie Lady who built our house, the tire camber (I had a fascinating conversation with the tire guy about alignments. Seriously.) is really weird on the Jetta. What this means is that you can go 70 miles an hour on an off-ramp, but the tires don't wear evenly. Thank you, Volkswagen.

I did resist the urge to get the tires inflated with Nitrogen. It makes me feel like a race car driver (what with the drive-like-an-asshole tire camber and all), but (a) I hardly ever drive the Jetta, and (b) I know it's probably a load of crap (or, as ABC's John Stossel would say, "What a Crock!"). The nitrogen pushers claim that it keeps the tire properly inflated, and expands and contracts less than "regular" air. But regular air is about 78% nitrogen anyway, so does it really make that much difference? Maybe Dateline should do a series called "To Catch a Nitrogen Predator." It's just a suggestion.

The Monday of My Discontent

Today I went on the stairmaster for 15 minutes, which on the Fat Burner Plus setting, is about enough time to climb nearly a mile worth of stairs. After that I wipe down my machine, and survey the exercise bike situation. This beefy sweaty guy gets off one of the machines, and just walks off! He has big sweat rings all over the place, and does not wipe down his machine. Okay, maybe he's just going to get a drink of water. No, he is not. He just walks out of the gym, never to return again. So today I became the crazy woman who wipes down the machines before she gets on them. And after, of course. I'm not an animal.

I had a quick bite to eat, and then off to a meeting. Since I called the meeting, I got to the room early, cleaned off the whiteboard, and proceeded to write down the agenda (one of my pet peeves is a meeting with no agenda). Most people arrived on time, which I appreciated. However, it was like pulling teeth to get people to commit to anything. Maybe we just had really non-decisive stuff to discuss. Or maybe we all had a case of the Mondays.

Photo Friday: Bra-vo

This week's assignment was to take an artistic picture of a bra. I am not making this up. I decided to go for cheap, sophomoric humor on this one. It's really the best I could do. Really.

Nice Jugs

And, to complete the series,

Nice Rack

Photo Friday: Dirty Secrets

Well, I'm taking a safe approach to this week's (well, techically last week's) theme. I could have done a post about how I got chicken pox in college (yes, it really is awful to get it as an adult) and about how I got it EVERYWHERE. Places a lady doesn't want the pox, if you know what I mean.
But I really can't take a picture of that, and even if I could, you really wouldn't want to see it. Really.

ANYWAY, my post for this week is of my Place of Shame. The crazy hippie lady who built our house left us an unfinished storage space. In addition to being unfinished, it was also uninsulated, which caused quite a draft. I got some Raft-R-Mate, and several rolls of insulation and went to town. The picture doesn't completely do it justice, but this space is not very tall. It might be 4 feet at its highest point. This makes for very difficult insulation, and much of the work had to be done lying down. You'd think that'd be relaxing, but it is not.

Our friends were kind enough to give us some leftover sheetrock. We had to cut it down to load it in my truck, and then again to fit it through the very narrow, short door that leads into the storage space. I was lazy and decided to "eyeball" it when I was cutting the sheetrock, and didn't exactly end up with nice squared off edges. I quickly grew tired of having to lay on my back, knees in the air to support the sheetrock, while trying to hang the stuff. An excellent ab workout, but that's about it.

Pet Food Recall

I just learned that a number of dog and cat food companies are recalling various types of wet food. For the full story, go here.

Below is a summary of brands covered under the recall. You can find specific information (brands and products, and product codes/upc codes to check for here (click on dog or cat food, and then the brand you use).

Below are lists of specific brands recalled by Menu Foods, in addition to Proctor & Gamble's recall of certain Iams and Eukanuba products. Menu Brands lists the brands on its Web site, www.menufoods.com, and advises consumers to call 1-866-895-2708 for more information.

Recalled cat foods

Americas Choice; Preferred Pets; Authority; Best Choice; Companion; Compliments; Demoulas Market Basket; Fine Feline Cat, Shep Dog; Food Lion; Foodtown; Giant Companion; Good n Meaty; Hannaford; Hill Country Fare; Hy-Vee; Key Food; Laura Lynn; Li'l Red; Loving Meals; Main Choice; Nutriplan; Nutro Max Gourmet Classics; Nutro Natural Choice; Paws; Presidents Choice; Price Chopper; Priority; Save-A-Lot; Schnucks; Sophistacat; Special Kitty; Springfield Pride; Sprout; Total Pet; My True Friend; Wegmans; Western Family; White Rose; and Winn Dixie.

Recalled dog foods

America's Choice; Preferred Pets; Authority; Award; Best Choice; Big Bet; Big Red; Bloom; Bruiser; Cadillac; Companion; Demoulas Market Basket; Fine Feline Cat; Shep Dog; Food Lion; Giant Companion; Great Choice; Hannaford; Hill Country Fare; Hy-Vee; Key Food; Laura Lynn; Loving Meals; Main Choice; Mixables; Nutriplan; Nutro Max; Nutro Natural Choice; Nutro; Ol'Roy; Paws; Pet Essentials; Pet Pride; President's Choice; Price Chopper; Priority; Publix; Roche Bros; Save-A-Lot; Schnucks; Springsfield Pride; Sprout; Stater Bros; Total Pet; My True Friend; Western Family; White Rose; Winn Dixie and Your Pet.

Healthology

Once again I am left to solve this nation's problems. As you may have heard, Dick Cheney recently had a little case of DVT. This does not, I found out after thorough research, stand for Democrats Vowing Treason. No, it actually stands for Deep Vein Thrombosis, which I'm sure is just as life threatening to Mr. Cheney. As a service to my readers, I have compiled a time line of Cheney's hospitalizations. As a reminder, this is the guy who is second in command. Of the country. I hope you appreciate that I have spent valuable minutes of my work day on this task.

Since I am not one to merely identify a problem, I will present you with my solution:

Joan Rivers. She's what, 800 years old? This woman is held together by Botox and the fear of a stiff Santa Ana wind. Yet she manages to get to work. Speaking of which, she can clearly work while intoxicated. This is the woman I want to be our second in command. The United States of America can count on Joan Rivers to pull through in the event of a transfer of power. She'll do so with style and grace. And if that doesn't work, she'll bonk you on the head with her microphone.

Look Ma, No Tank!

I may have mentioned the crazy hippie lady who built our house. She may or may not have purchased our plumbing fixtures from the back of a truck (and not even the back of a nice truck). I'm not sure where she managed to find our downstairs toilet. The toilet itself looks new and functional, but it was running all the time, and no amount of adjusting would stop it. So I decided to replace all the parts inside the tank. To start fresh, if you will. This is when I discovered that the downstairs toilet is not a normal toilet; "universal fit" parts will not fit, universally or otherwise. Our toilet does not have a flapper (and by that I don't mean a sassy lady from the 20's). If you know anything about toilets, you will know that this is not normal.

I didn't know anything about plumbing before we bought our house, but necessity has dictated that I learn. I invested in a very handy plumbing book, which covers lots of stuff. It does not, however, cover our style of toilet. I ended up having to order the parts from a plumbing supply dealer in Knoxville, Tennessee. Yeehaw. I was delighted to see that the packaging claimed that it "installs easily." Only 15 easy steps!

I have a very long list of things to do around the house. I was convinced that I'd be able to cross this one off my list this weekend.

I dilligently went through the steps, and replaced not only the flush valve, but also the fill valve and the watter supply line. You know, while I was at it. I wouldn't have normally taken so long, but apparently Conan the Barbarian installed the toilet, and overtightened everything to the point that things had seized up. Choice words were exchanged between myself and the toilet. But I finally got everything put back together, put the tank back on...shiny and new parts waiting to make their debut. I even put thread tape on anything threaded. Mostly because the thread tape helps prevent leaks, but also because it is pink and pretty.

As a final step, I put a few drops of food coloring into the tank, to check for leaks.

A small but distinct leak, matching the food coloring that I had put in the tank, appeared between the base of the toilet and the floor. To quote Homer Simpson, "D'Oh!"

There wasn't even a leak there before! It waited until I had put everything back together. So now I get to disassemble the toilet once again, this time adding a Wax Ring to the mix. I am going to have the biggest plumber's crack this side of the Androscoggin River!

I'd Rather Have an Exclamation Point than a Period

Dear Uterus,

What the hell? Who did you piss off to get stuck with this crap? Oh, sure, you can give it a cute name like "aunt Flo," or "the visitor," or, as they said on the one episode of Everybody Loves Raymond that I saw, "Ladies' Days." All the cutsie names will not negate the fact that this is a giant pain in my ass. Or uterus, if you will. So, uterus, what gives?

Love, your friend Sarah.Allow me to explain. I got my period in 5th grade, and have been pretty annoyed by it ever since. I mean, is this absoultely necessary? Really? Couldn't something else happen once a month instead? Like, I could get a funny-shaped rash. I get enough rashes anyway; one more wouldn't be much bother. Or maybe I could pop out a miniature coin from my hoo-hoo every month. It would be like a prize! When I collected enough coins, I could redeem them for something, like a basketball, or a car.

Did you realize how much feminine hygeine (don't you love that? It sounds like scrubbing bubbles for your Lady Bits) products cost? They aren't cheap, especially if you're like me and prefer to buy the kind not soaked in toxic chemicals. AND, as an extra slap in the face, they're taxable items! There should be some sort of tax deduction wherin I would be reimbursed for these costs. Technically, they're health-related. I can see it now. I imagine calling the IRS to ask a question, and getting the following message: "If you'd like to e-File, press 1. If you have a question about your imputed income, press 2. If you need a copy of the W-1056 Aunt-Flo Form, press 3."

Photo Friday: Mug Shot

This week's assignment was to take a photo of your favorite mug. Well, not YOUR favorite mug; how the hell would I know what your favorite mug is? And while we're talking about it, it's rather rude to assume that I even want to take a picture of your mug.

Now that we've gotten that out of the way, let's talk about MY favorite mug, or mugs as the case may be. The mug on the left supports the claim that everything really is bigger in Texas. Mugs are no exception (the photo really doesn't do it justice; the thing could probably hold an entire pot of coffee).

The mug on the left is my Twin Peaks ("A Damn Fine Cup of Coffee") mug, or, as I prefer to call it, my Sunday mug. I use it every Sunday when I drink coffee and read the paper. Mmm, coffee...

I'm such a jock.

Before you know it, my neck will be as wide as my head! What a jock I am, indeed.

So, last week I had my annual doctor's appointment. My doctor noticed a little rash that had just popped up that very morning (I get so many rashes, it's really hard to keep track; maybe a rash-o-meter would help). She recommended that I get some Lotrimin, as the rash "looked angry." I made a mental note to blame the gross people at the gym who don't wipe off the equipment when they're done.

Today I stopped by Rite-Aid to pick up some Lotrimin. Imagine my horror when I saw this:
Note how your eyes are drawn in by the arrows. How could you possibly ignore the pulsating nether regions? Oh how delighted I was to bring this package up to the counter. Do I have jock itch on my arm? "Does this really cure jock itch?" I wanted to ask the cashier, "because I've got a hell of an itch!"

To add to my joy, it is about 8 degrees outside. I did not want to leave my JOCK ITCH CREAM in the truck all day, as I worried that it would freeze, and then separate when it thawed. Isn't it good that I think about these things? Anyway, I didn't want to leave it out in the arctic tundra all day, so I brought it in to work with me. I have this fear that I'll have to go get something out of my bag, and my JOCK ITCH CREAM will fall out, for all to see.

It's not a trick, Michael. It's an ILLUSION!

Sorry, I couldn't resist the Arrested Development reference.

I am a cheap do-it-yer-selfer. I also was tired of looking at the mess in my computer desk (not to be confused with my toaster desk, my stereo desk, or any other electronic type of desk). So, I bought some plexiglass down at the local glass shop. Did you know that if you sand plexiglass, it looks like frosted glass? And also, that you can make a big giant mess by sanding plexiglass? Oh, yes you can! The nice thing about plexiglass (aka Lexan) is that it is very lightweight, and you can drill though it. Can't say that for glass. Well, maybe you can say that, but you'd be lying.

Anyhow, I present to you the "before" picture:
Add a couple heavily sanded plexiglass doors (complete with equiangular spiral ventilation holes) and way-too-big hinges...
And voila!

Putting the Roll in Rock and Roll

It's gone too far.
In case you weren't aware, I thought that I should alert you to the existence of the first (and I hope the last) iPod dock/toilet paper roll. So you can jam to tunes while you...you know.
I hope that this will fill the void in your life.

Photo Friday: Favorite Cleaning Product

We have 3 cats and 2 dogs, so I do a lot of vacuuming. A few years back, we got one of those bagless Eureka filter vacs, thinking that bagless was good. Boy were we wrong. Most of the time I end up using an old Electrolux upright vac (with an easy-to-change bag), which used to be my grandmother's.

What's wrong with bagless vacs, you ask? They are new and shiny, so they must be sent straight from heaven, right? Wrong. They came to us from the depths of hell. You see, with my allergies, trying to empty the canister is bad news, so Brooke usually ends up doing it. She has to empty the canister. But wait, that's not all! She also had to pick the dust and crap off the filter. Apparently to get it all off, she goes to the edge of the property and bangs the filter against a tree. I did not know this, until recently.

I spotted footsteps leading from the woods (where she bangs the filter on a tree) to our trashcan (where she dumps the canister), and I was convinced that someone was coming from the woods to go through our trashcans in an attempt to steal our identity. I even called the local Sheriff's office (we don't got no po-lice here) to see if anyone else had reported footprints (it had just snowed) from the woods to their trashcans. I called Brooke at work to alert her to the situation. She was sufficiently freaked out until she remembered that it was HER footprints leading from the woods to our trashcan.

So you see, the moral of the story is that bagless vacs are bad news.