Further lessons in why we do not use latex paint on top of oil paint. The painters are supposedly coming on Friday. At this rate (the photo is just what I peeled off the bathroom walls this morning), everything will be peeled and scraped before they get here.
It’s never going to end.
There’s nothing quite like waking up from a dead sleep and suddenly remembering that you didn’t pay an important bill, then getting up and logging into your bank to find that you actually DID pay it. So now I’m awake, and I have a feeling I’m going to stay that way for a good while. Hrmf.
This is a naked cake. You could add a topping or maybe cream cheese frosting, but I think that would make it too sweet.
I have an old recipe for rhubarb cake that is fabulous. I’m going to try it with cranberries, because they have a similar flavor profile. (There’s sour cream involved. It’s ridiculous.)
So. One of the maintenance guys was out back, picking up after the stray cats, so that the painter can finish painting the deck and fence. Apparently he didn’t like working around piles of cat shit, and who could blame him? The maintenance guy, that’s who. His exact words: “That little Messican always has something to complain about.” Um, wow. Unlike Mr. Maintenance, who was complaining to a TENANT about having to do his JOB. (And the painter is actually Ecuadoran and is taller than Mr. Maintenance, just for extra FAIL. Not to mention that he’s college educated and way over-qualified to be painting decks, but, you know, it’s a job.)
I am gobsmacked. And I wonder if it’s just because I’m white that Mr. Maintenance felt comfortable sharing his racist little rant, or if he’s totally oblivious to the fact that he’s a racist, or if I’ve ever done or said something that made him think I’d be sympathetic to his asshole beliefs.
red paper boat 