Crankypantsing, Meta

When it Rains…

Shelly

Just when I was wondering what else could go wrong,

1. Mr. Upstairs came back to move more crap out of his apartment, which apparently requires him pounding something heavy against the floor. Repeatedly. I think my last nerve might have just given out.

2. I put a piece of lettuce down the disposal, turned it on, and was rewarded with a deluge of water from the lower cupboard. My disposal literally detached from the sink. So I guess I’ll be calling the maintenance guys in the morning. Any bets on how many days I’ll be without the use of my kitchen sink?

3. Gun fire at 5:30 this morning. Nice! And a parking lot crawling with cops when I left for work, which I guess is a good thing. At least I know that they will show up, and quickly, when they’re called.

4. My web host, bless their useless little hearts, have apparently decided to give me the silent treatment. They marked my last help ticket as “Resolved.” I updated it on the 28th, saying that it was not resolved. No response. So yesterday, I closed that ticked and opened a new one. It’s been over 24 hours, and again, no response.

Needless to say, I’m looking at other hosting options.

5. And last, but not least, it’s supposed to start raining on Thursday. For an entire week.

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On the Subject of Food

Shelly

Do you remember Butternut bread? It came in a blue and white checked wrapper and was soft and moist and squishy. When we were kids, we used to tear off the crusts, then roll it into dough balls. Butternut bread made the very best dough balls. I’d forgotten about doing that. My favorite was to dip the dough balls in creamy peanut butter. Mmmm.

And that reminded me of a new favorite sandwich: cheese and peanut butter on toasted bread. It sounds disgusting, but it’s damnfinetasty. You have to use real cheese. The fake stuff, like Kraft singles or Velveeta, would get lost–flavor-wise and texture-wise–in the peanut butter. Sharp cheddar works best, I think.

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In Da Hood

Shelly

While I was in the shower this morning, I heard what I at first thought were firecrackers going off. One, then about half a minute later, two fainter blasts. But fireworks? At that hour? Unlikely. After thinking about it some more–I wasn’t exactly awake yet–it occurred to me that I can barely hear firecrackers from inside, and certainly not over the noise from the shower and fan. Aieee! Those were not fireworks I heard. They had to’ve been gunshots.

I got out of the shower, meaning to call 911, but I looked out the window first and the place was already crawling with cops. Thankfully, someone else was more alert and clueful than I was, and had already called them.

The cops were still there when I left for work. I wonder what, exactly, happened?

Photography

A Little Light Reading

Shelly

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I love old books, and somewhere near the top of the list of old books I love are old Catholic books.

In fishy news, the algae in my aquarium was starting to get a little out of control, so I finally broke down and bought a pleco. He’s feisty and he’s grumpy as hell, so of course I adore him. And he’s small enough that he won’t mess with the other fish. Yet.

Photography

Old Photos

Shelly

My uncle Paul sent my mom a bunch of old family photos awhile back. Most of them were ones I’d never seen before.

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These two are my favorites. I can’t stand having anything on my head, even when the weather is sub-arctic. But that hat in the second one is made of awesome. And who wouldn’t want a crown?

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That rocking chair used to scare the hell out of me, because it would rock so far back that you felt like you’d fall over. I used to stick two large dictionaries under the backs of the rockers, to stop it from tipping backwards.

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When we first saw this one, my brother and I couldn’t figure out where it was taken (our dad’s house). I had absolutely no recollection of it, though I remember that that was my favorite top. We won’t speak about the rolled up jeans, knee socks, and sandals, m’kay? The less said about them, the better.

I still stand with my feet like that, by the way.