The Burn Pile

I think I am going to miss a lot of things when Husband and I move into our new house and I officially become a "townie." I've lived in the country since before I can remember with the closest neighbors residing miles away from our old farmhouse. I'm going to miss the absolute quiet on warm spring evenings while reclining on the swing. I'm going to miss running outside in my underwear (or less) to grab a shirt and pants off the clothesline in the yard without worrying about any Peeping Toms. But most of all, I think I'm going to miss The Burn Pile. While living in town with my in-laws, I've had to wrap my head around the fact that every week someone comes around and picks up your trash. You don't just head out back and toss it into The Burn Barrel or on The Burn Pile, to be burned at a later date. Not exactly "green," I know, but efficient. The Burn Pile has offered much assistance during our renovation process. While most people would have to haul the offal to the landfill themselves (Mr. Trash Man refuses to even pick up grass clippings), we have had the luxury of loading up the ripped out carpeting, giant pieces of lauan, and other sundry pieces into the bed of our little gray truck, driving to my parents' house, meandering through a field, and satisfactorily pushing everything onto The Burn Pile, burn date to be decided.

And so, here is the best story I have about The Burn Pile.

One day, while I and my rational brain were away at college, my parents decided that they needed a new bed. So, logical people that they are, they drug the mattresses that made up their queen bed through the orchard, dumped them onto The Burn Pile, and lit a bonfire. Then, they drove to the furniture store in the next town over to purchase a new bed. They picked out their mattress and were then told that their mattress would arrive in about a week. *crickets chirping* Uhm...you did what already? No, we don't have any in stock. No, you can't just take the floor model. The next few days before the arrival of the mattress found them bed hopping, from the small guest bed that they found too hard and too close for comfort, to splitting up between the couch and my empty little twin bed, to the air mattress, pumped up on the floor of the sitting room.

Therefore, I pronounce my parents goobers and sing praises to The Burn Pile, so long as its powers are used wisely. Everyone should be so lucky as to have one.

Knock and the door shall be opened unto you...

Last night Husband and I broke down and purchased a set of french doors to replace the sliding glass door leading from our kitchen/dining room onto the back deck. The price tag stung a bit because it was an unexpected expense (although the 10% off coupon did help. Seriously, if you need a coupon to the big box home improvement store that begins with "L" and rhymes with "toes," just pick up (i.e., steal) a few "change of address" packets from your local post office.) The doors are lovely and have the blinds built in between the two panes of glass to match our new back door. They are made out of steel, which was an important requirement. We discovered that the old sliding glass door had let in enough moisture to rot the wood around the entrance. Since we knew we would have to replace this anyway, why not just blow several hundred more on a prettier door that actually opens smoothly and doesn't include a screen that looks as though it has been attacked by the members of the Broadway musical Cats? Pictures of the doors and the carpet that was installed over a week ago are still pending because I'm both lazy and forgetful.

Additionally, last night we purchased some roofing paper to lay on top of the plywood as a moisture barrier before our beautiful bamboo hardwood goes down this weekend (take note, future homeowners). We also bought some rope, whose intended purpose was to tie down the doors on the way home but that I think I will instead use to hang myself once I see our final renovation total.

However, last Saturday we did make a small pittance of our investment back when I participated in the town-wide yard sale by dragging onto my driveway all of our "inheritance," that is, crappy possessions left in the house by the previous owners. Anyone want a broken teapot? A bodily fluid/animal hair encrusted vanity? A birdbath that probably houses the avian flu? Well, too bad, because people trashier than me already bought all of that junk. We got rid of almost everything that had collected in our basement for the past four months, which thrilled me beyond belief because purging is one of my favorite things to do (not as in, like, bulimia). What was even better is that I had no emotional ties to the detritus, so I was more than happy to accept customers' haggling. The two boxes left over will probably be donated to Goodwill or the Habitat for Humanity retail shop. Good riddance.

And so we march on through renovation hell. As many, many people have repeated to me, at least we aren't forced to live in the middle of it. If we had, we would probably have black lung from the drywall dust and uncovered mold and our divorce would be pending. Luckily, that is not the case. Yet.

It's in the bag...

I love purses. I think I always have. I don't buy one very often, and I don't put in an inordinate amount of time matching my purses to my outfits (I only have three that I alternate at the moment), but I love to waste time looking at them online and fantasizing about a world in which I could own every purse I desired (and actually have a use for all of those purses).

I also love Anthropologie. If you've never before visited the site, go. Drool. Love. The following came from there.
Smocked canvas tote. $78. This also comes in yellow...decisions, decisions. This bag kind of reminds me of a tube top...but in a significantly less slutty way.
Movement-Of-Waves Bag. $158. RRRuffles have RRRidges!
Gathered Teal Tote. $89. Okay, this is adorable.
Carrickmacross Wallet. $128. A bit exorbitant for a wallet, but I'll allow it because of the lasered design. This comes in a number of colors, but the orange really caught me eye. I don't think I could bear to stuff this away in a purse.
Spark & Silence Bag. At $288, this is the most expensive bag, but it is also my most favorite. I love, love, love the design (can you say Ode to Damask?) and the warm vs. icy colors. It looks large and heavy and carrying it would probably require me to see a chiropractor afterward, but I don't care because PRETTY.

Happy Mother's Day

No, don't freak out. Today isn't Mother's Day. Mother's Day is Sunday. I just am way too lazy to wrestle the computer controls away from Husband during the weekend, so my Mother's Day post will appear today. Go buy your mom a card.

I heard this song today while driving to work and listening to Bob and Tom. If you don't know what Bob and Tom is, then go find out. You won't be disappointed.

For your listening pleasure, I present Paul and Storm's Mother's Day Song. It's HI-larious.

And, Mom, for the record, thanks for having intercourse with Dad.

"Shaaaaauuuun?"

"How are you doing?" asks Yvonne.

"Surviving," replies Shaun.

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My lack of posting correlates to body sickness and heartsickness. Instead of reading my bitching, how about you read something equally inconsequential but much more funny? This very short piece from The New Yorker cracked me up. I hope you will feel the same.

Cheers!

Friday Funny

I am absolutely not kidding when I say that I know not one, not two, but several people who think this way. It's kind of terrifying. Enjoy!

Amazing comic courtesy of the always funny explosm.net.

Friday Fashion

Last night we went to the local piano bar, and I got a firsthand look at all of the young, bouncy coeds in their ridiculously tight/lowcut/vagina hanging out cocktail dresses. Seriously, people. This is Indiana. You're not impressing anyone. However, their inappropriately sexy couture did make me feel spectacularly bad about my chunky, schlumpy self, so here is some Friday Fashion for you, all of which are beautiful and all of which would make my ass look like...something large and unappealing...sorry, I'm fresh out of similies this morning. These are from chickdowntown.com. Enjoy:


Black Blanchette Dress. This is so Audrey Hepburn and for only $66! Quite a steal, from the look of the rest of their merchandise. Love the sweetheart neckline, and you can never go wrong with black. I would wear this with bright red heels, all the way.


Ella Dress. For obvious color reasons, I could never wear this dress. I got married and had to give up the color purple cold turkey. This is the priciest dress at $473, an amount I would never shell out on a dress that wasn't for a prom or my own wedding. However, the construction looks so precise. You'd definitely be locked and loaded in this number. Beats the hell out of me what kind of shoes would go well with this dress, though.



Maureen Dress. I'm not exactly sure what is going on with the bust in this dress, but it seems like it would look spectacular on someone who actually had a bust (*peeks into shirt...dammit*). I love the soft gray and the tiny sleeves, although I still wouldn't pay $385 for this dress, even if I would feel like a powerful corporate attorney or expensive dominatrix.
All of the above pieces are so lovely, I just had to add in something spectacularly ugly, just to round out the day. In some big city circle of haute couture critics, these are probably orgasm-worthy. But to me, they are just about the ugliest shoes I have ever seen in my life ever ever ever. They look like my feet would sweat a lot and everyone around me would look up, wondering, "What's that awful smell?" Right before my ankle took a ninety-degree turn and I fell into some kind of open manhole.

Heh.

Manhole.

Have a great weekend, everybody.

Pants are hard

As I was confessing to my dear friend yesterday, I'm having a good day if I can get up and remember to put on pants every morning. And she agreed, confirming, "Pants are hard."

I feel guilty for complaining about life and how hard it is sometimes. I imagine myself re-reading this post many years from now and wisely frowning upon the person I used to be, stroking my long, Gandalf-like beard, and thinking, "Sister, you don't know the half of it." But, for now, pants are hard.

Dad received his MRI test results, which confirmed that the staph infection has ravaged the weakest part of his body, in this case, his spine, destroying several discs and causing cracks to appear. So, in addition to his prostate surgery, he will probably also need back surgery. They are sending him to a neurologist for more information. His constant pain is discouraging. He can't continue to live like this. And I can't do a damn thing to help him. The powers that be did, finally, send him to a pain clinic yesterday that prescribed him a powerful painkiller, you know, the kind people rob pharmacies for. He had just taken the first pill when we visited him yesterday, so the effects hadn't totally kicked in yet, but I hope they do, soon.

Meanwhile, in about one month we will note the one-year anniversary of leaving Dinky College and moving in with Husband's parents. I absolutely cannot fathom the fact that we have been there for an entire year. Our move-in date for our new house keeps getting pushed back because who knew completely renovating a house would take such a long-ass time? After the wedding last Saturday, we drug our exhausted, hungover butts out of bed and drove to Indianapolis with two pickup trucks to retrieve our hardwood flooring. We appreciate the muscled help of Diosthocles, whom we somehow conned into coming along and lugging around our forty-eight boxes of wood. Our carpeting will finally be installed Tuesday, and if it ever stops raining, we'll pick up the rest of our tile and cement board for the two downstairs bathrooms before laying the hardwood and installing the kitchen cabinets. Aside from other semi-minor fixes and installations, we should be able to move the majority of our junk into our new abode after that. Maybe we'll be living in our house by this time next year. Maybe.

Has anyone seen my pants?

Wedding Bells

Wedding season has officially begun! This past Saturday I was a bridesmaid in a wedding for my dear red-headed cowgirl friend. We have been friends since she moved from Arkansas to Indiana in high school. With her lighthearted spirit and innate sense of spontenaity, she can never help but to make me smile. With her, I experienced the yearbook class, to which I contribute the inspiration for my college education and current career. Also, I don't think I will ever forget ramping my little yellow VW bug up the hill and onto the highway at our school...she can get me to do just about anything...

To the best of my knowledge, the wedding went off very well, except for a sick horse who couldn't attend and lead their carriage after the ceremony. Aside from a stiff wind, the day was almost as beautiful as the bride. Note:


She even looks lovely with a men's room as a backdrop! I cannot wait to see the professional photographer's pictures from the day! Here is the female bridal party in its entirety. Our lovely spring colors were so bright and cheerful!


At the reception, Husband and I took the obligatory old, boring married couple picture. I think we clean up pretty well!


You will always be Fuller to me!

What Font Are You?

What font are you? Take this short quiz to find out. I absolutely love fonts. While freelance designing, I get all of my inspiration by taking the text and playing around with different fonts until I find the right ones for the piece.

However, I'm disappointed. This quiz says I'm Times New Roman: "Dude. You have three names. You're blue blood, old money, landed gentry, confident, assured; perhaps a tad old fashioned but you don't let that bother you. Let the kids go crazy with their new fads — you prefer style that's going to last. You secretly fear you need to get out more, and you're probably right."

I would probably look good on financial statements and TPS Reports.

How boring.