Dudes. I got nothin'.
Well, maybe a little.
The toilets are gone. They picked them up a few hours after I posted my last entry. I was a little sad. I had such high hopes for Toilet Watch 2008.
Tuesday it was eight thousand degrees here with 132% humidity. I thought maybe our house had *teleported to Ecuador. So, of course, I spent the day wrestling with filthy windows. The three in the living room were probably the dirtiest in the house. I even had to disassemble the locks and a couple other things to get them completely clean. I'm having trouble understanding why parts of them were covered in this weird amalgam of dirt, grease and hair. These are parts that were well off the ground, out of reach of children and pets (unless they had some very dexterous mastiff/Clydesdale mixes). I understand letting clutter get the better of you. I understand having dirty, dusty corners. But in most cases, it's like they expended more effort to make the place filthy than it would take just to keep it clean. Yagh.
*Firefox does not believe that "teleported" is a word. Idiot.
So. Windows. Two of them are sparkling clean. They look as new as the are, finally. One of them had the worlds most horrifying spider web across the top of the outside, so I just cleaned the inside. It doesn't look so good. But I don't regret my decision. Last night its occupant came out to play. Made Shelob look like a fuzzy baby jumping spider (oddly enough, I almost like jumping spiders; I think they're cute--still creepy, but cute). I just know that if I'd gone to vacuum up that web, she would have come out of hiding and laid ten thousand eggs in my mucus membranes.
Tuesday night James and I painted the trim in our living room. I tell you, our windows are real pretty. They're new, and the sills have these pretty beveled edges on them. But by golly are they a pain to paint. We got the chair rail and the baseboards painted in about 1/4 the time it took to do the windows. Also, I kicked over a small bucket of paint. That was awesome. Especially since James did the cleanup. Love that man.
Wednesday I did nothing all day. It was eight thousand degrees again.
Today it is not eight thousand degrees. It is a nice, comfortable temperature. Of course, it's 8:54 in the morning, so that could all change.
I forgot one thing about living in an older house with a basement in the middle of Wisconsin during monsoon season. Well, two things.
One, earwigs. All I can think about when I see an earwig is Star Trek and ceti eels and thinks burrowing into my brain through the ear canal. You know, if it weren't for their unfortunate name, I bet earwigs wouldn't be anywhere near as terrifying as they are. Sure, they look totally creepy and alien, but it's the name that really puts it all together. *shudder*
Two, centipedes. Thank the Creator they tend to be recluses. Of course, this means they pop out of dark corners at the most inopportune times. I have encountered two since we moved in.
The first decided to go on safari all over our bedroom wall one night. I just happened to turn on the light at the right moment. James heard, "REEEEEEE! DAGH DAGH DAGH! BRAGGADAFFIN!" while he was in the bathroom brushing his teeth. Well, maybe he didn't hear it. It's what came out of my mouth, but much of it may not have been on the audible sound spectrum. He came dashing in, expecting a severed limb or perhaps a man with a gun. Instead he sees his perfectly healthy and comically rotund (he says "cute", but I know better) wife attempting to levitate off the critter-infested ground while pointing and chittering at an apparently empty wall. Finally I managed to get out, "Centipede! Behind laundry basket! Wall! KILLIT KILLIT KILLITKILLKILLKILL!" He's about as comfortable with centipedes as I am, but he valiantly grabbed some toilet paper and sneaked up on the beastie while I clutched at my smelling salts. The first whack missed--the little thing went scurrying off at a mile a minute the second he detected air movement--, but the second, third, fourth, and tenth definitely found their mark. James nearly tore off his thumbnail, but by golly that thing was dead. He still has a visible wound under his nail. My hero.
The second time, I was sitting on the toilet, which is one of man's more vulnerable positions, and I just so happened to look down from my book as a darkish shape slithered out from under the dryer, between my feet, and under the folds of my gaucho pants. I specify the type of pants that I was wearing because they are generously cut and full of folds and hiding places. Now, lately, I can barely stand up from a regular chair without a decent amount of effort, but I tell you what, I jumped straight out of my pants and halfway across the bathroom without even breathing hard. Then I uttered a short, primal scream and waited for James to show up. He dutifully came running. I was more coherent this time. "Toilet! Dryer! My pants? Centipede! Kill!" then made my way upstairs to finish my business in the other bathroom. Nevermind that I was pantsless and we have no blinds over the windows onto the street. Hi new neighbors!
It gets better. James couldn't find the bloody thing. So now there is a known centipede loose in my laundry room/bathroom, and my favorite comfort pants are lying on the floor. I can't touch them until I know they are vermin free. I settled back on the couch (feet safely up on the Rubbermaid container we are using as a coffee table) and played some video games. Ten minutes later, our friend decides to make a break for it and goes feathering (weird word, I know, but it's the best I can think of for the eerie way they move) across the dining room floor, and I start back up with the screeches and grunts and non-English signs of distress. This time James gets him, and I'm more in love with my husband than ever.
I'm getting better. There was an earwig in the sink this morning, and I didn't even flinch. I just washed him down the drain.
Next time I'll tell you about our basement. I'm pretty sure that, if you go down there on the right night of the month, you'll find chains hanging from the walls and creepy men with giant axes hanging about. Needless to say, I don't go down there much.