I voted to name it "The Creamsicle," but everyone hated that

So a certain family member of mine, being a "retahred Amurrican" and treating himself for devoting 40 years to our public schools, bought himself a bitchin' orange Mustang. 

Not the best photo.  From my Blackberry.
 And this certain family member drove it over to The Park Ave. Pub on Sunday to watch the race and have some awesome homemade burgers (will post the recipe soon), homemade fruit salad, and potato salad.  We walked around the park after the race.  It was nice. 

Then this certain family member, when it was time to go, backed his beautiful Mustang out of the driveway and into David's car.  Sober, in broad daylight. 

To this certain family member:  I'm sorry for posting this, but I had to.  Once I'm in a habit of writing about my life, I can't really stop.  I tried not to for as long as I could, and it turns out that "as long as I could" is about two days.

The Mustang was a little scratched, but it turned out that most of the marks were scuffs.  I sat for about a half hour next to the bumper of the Mustang, performing a "Mom-spit-face-wash" on the scuffs, and they were coming right out.  David's car had a dent, but it was big enough where they knew they'd be able to get it out, if that makes sense.

THING IS, this certain family member knows a lot about taking care of cars.  He put stuff (rubbing compound?  I have no idea) on his car so you can't even tell that it got a couple of small scratches.  Then, he came over yesterday with this suction cup thingie (?) and the rubbing compound, and they took the dent and scratches out of David's car.  David's car looks like nothing ever happened to it, and I haven't seen the Mustang yet, but I have heard that my certain family member is really happy with how it looks, and that's all that matters to me. 


The Indy Car season begins

Helio, after winning the race at St. Petersburg, FL -- Dan Wheldon's "adopted" hometown.  They named a turn after him... and Helio, in his typical "I won the race!" celebration, climbed the fence.  This fence was important.


Outside my window right now

Indiana is not for the weak.

Under a tornado watch now.  Bloomington is just now starting to get slammed with a cell a lot worse than ours.  I hope nothing happens to the Indiana University campus -- it's so pretty and historic.

Anyway -- time to break out the NOAA weather radio and sit on the porch!


"It is what it is." "BUT WHAT IF IT ISN'T."

The subject line is a conversation I just had via email with a co-worker of mine who was using the phrase "it is what it is."  And man, that phrase bugs me.  It adds nothing to the conversation while also being redundant.  Plus, a lot of people use it to get out of things...to justify things they did wrong.  My co-worker wasn't using it in this context (he was actually talking about the what-would-be-gut-wrenching-loss-if-only-I-liked-basketball Kansas laid down on Purdue last night).  But, yeah, to justify things you do wrong:

Officer:  "Ma'am, you were going 55 in a 30 mph zone."
Woman:  "Well...(shrug)...it is what it is."
Officer:  "You're right.  It is."  (no ticket, drives off)

What is a better way to say that we can't change what has already happened?  (Other than what I just said?)  "What's done is done" makes a wee bit more sense to me but is essentially the same phrase.  And "can't change the past" sounds stupid, because how in the hell do you respond to that?  "Oh, oops.  Thought I could," or "Of course I can, but the DeLorean's in the shop."

The only proper way to respond to that in conversation is, "Yep.  Can't change the past."  And then, the conversation effectively dies.


In other news, David had a couple of job interviews last week, and we went shopping for some new interview clothes.  He was getting tired of dressing like George W. Bush all the time. 

So, some of you may know, David's not exactly petite.  He's gotta be like 6'3", and he's built like....oh, say...someone who was in the military for 12 years.  He's got long arms, long legs, and a football player's neck.  That made looking for clothes in his size quite the formidable task.  Hardly any of the shirts could accommodate an 18" (you heard me) neck, and one shirt he tried on looked like the sleeves were made for a T-Rex, but it could've been an optical illusion.

We finally found a shirt in a cream-ish color that would begrudgingly fit him.  Then, here's the kind of shopper he is:  He grabbed a green-ish tie and walked toward the register.  I was like, "Wait!  Pants!  Shoes!  Belt!" and then he did one of these:

He walked to the belts, considered for a moment, and then plucked one up; we went to the shoes, where I briefly "got lost oops" in the women's aisles, and he pointed at a pair of shoes he wanted.  Just pointed.  He mumbled something about already having pants to go with these, and before I knew it, we were out of the store and back at home.

The next morning, the first thought I had upon waking:

And then, "Oh, SHIT."

I hadn't even had time to think about what the outfit would look like as a whole, and David (who wouldn't have cared anyway) doesn't watch The Office.  By the time I realized that he would look like Dwight fucking Schrute at his job interviews, it was too late.  But it was out of my hands.  It was what it was, or something equally stupid.

He said both his interviews went well, and that's awesome, but I did see him briefly in his interview clothes, and aside from some minor things -- David's got better hair, no glasses, and looks more like Ed Helms than Rainn Wilson -- yes... he was dressed a lot like Dwight. 

EDIT:  I also wanted to address how my area of Indiana has skipped spring and gone right into summer, which is totally cool with me, because I didn't care for blizzards during my spring break in school.  Now that I'm an adult and spring break is about as real as Santa, I still don't like the "is it/isn't it" crap on whether winter's really over.  The dial will make its way up to 50 degrees on occasion before teetering back down to 30 a few days later -- and that lasts for weeks

But this year, we've been holding steadily in the mid to upper 70s for days now, and it's fucking awesome.  I'm gonna look like an idiot if it snows next week, and I give you permission to make fun of me.  Like, "helloooooo, aren't you like, from Indiana?  gawd." 

In case that happens, I'm happy to have this item of cheer and optimism (oh god, who am I) displayed proudly on my desk:

love love love this!  I had to crop the pic kind of close, because it's on my work desk, and I'd get in trouble for not being a secret squirrel about items next to it.  Although, FINE, I'll tell you that the item on the right is..... a tape dispenser.  mind=blown

EDIT #2:  Just wanted to say thank you to buygenericsfromindia.com, which has sent six people to my site.  What the fuck?


Ever stick a Q-tip up your nose?

Some of you are aware that there's been some... uh, "construction" going on at The Park Ave. Pub.

Late last year, the ceiling above my bed collapsed.  I wasn't home when it happened.  So what started out as this:

Turned into this (though by this time, we'd taken down the walls and some of the lath):

You can see the attic windows in that picture.  Here's a better one of the attic windows:

And in general, my bedroom is a little messy:

Taking down the ceiling was the hardest part, because then we had to deal with insulation coming down from the attic.  Here's David in his Smurf costume protective scrubs, taking down part of the ceiling:

And if you've never breathed in insulation before... ugh, I can't describe it very well.  We both had masks on -- and not just the disposable dust masks, but the rubber ones with respirators -- and we still had trouble breathing.  Oh, and it's fucking itchy as hell if you get it in your clothes.  Once, after a particularly grueling demo session, I had to take an emergency shower, clean out my nose with Q-tips, and break out the Neti pot.  I hope all the really attractive men read that last sentence.  AWWWW YEAHHHH

Anyway, David's been the one working on it, for the most part.  He tore out all the plaster and lath, and then he's going to put up drywall.  All I've really done is choose new paint colors and work out some aggression during the demolition.  

When we were about done with demo, David hauled out about eight 150 lb. (68 kg) bags of rubble to the curb, where the garbage men left them for several weeks.  We would watch, each week, as we were leaving from work:  the garbage truck driving slowly past our house, our curb, the bags of plaster.  We then dragged them back to the alley, which is where our trash is normally picked up, and there the bags sat for another several weeks.  We even had them in the city-issued garbage can, with the cute little Garbage For Dummies arrow on the top of the can to tell you which way to face it as to make our glorious trash dudes' jobs easier.  And now our trash can is a Forever Alone:  each Tuesday morning, it gazes expectantly at the truck chugging down the alley, wondering if this will be the day when it finally gets some attention, and then the trash truck is like "nah lol," leaving our trash can heartbroken and misled. 

At this point, we were both thinking that if a couple of city slickers (lol) like us could drag bags the size of... well, me... down the stairs and to the front curb, and then haul them nearly an acre to the alleyway, then surely, three burly garbage men could toss them up two feet into their truck.  Right?  

David called the city about it, and there weren't any records as to why our garbage men -- oh, excuse me, "waste management facilitators" -- are completely ignoring us.  Like our trash isn't good enough for them.  

We are now in the process of borrowing my dad's Chevy, throwing the bags in the back, and driving them to the city dump, where leaving trash costs us a fee.  When I'm already paying a utility bill for trash service.  Awesome.

At least, for now, it seems that we're on the tail end of construction.  I'll be sure to post pictures of the finished room.


Current events

My take on some recent current events.  For some reason, I keep going to news sites, and I can't understand anything that is going on right now:

  • The Colts let Peyton Manning go, and some people are actually surprised.  I'm officially a Bears fan now.  This also counts as a "local headline" for me. 
    I know he looked like he was crying at this press conference, but honestly, it looks like he's stifling a laugh right here.  Probably took everything he had to not chuckle and go, "SUCKAS."
  • We're having the biggest solar storm in years, so we best stock up on water and board up the house!!!!!  This is crazyyy!!!!  OMGOMGOMGOMGOM-- oh hey, nothing happened.
  • In local news, one headline jumped out at me:  "Scientific method alive, well at science fair."  Well, let's fucking hope so.  This is, however, Indiana, so you can't exactly be shocked when angry parents crash a science fair and drawl out, "This is ridiculous, teachin' mah boy that the earth is round!  Y'all should be ashamed of yerselves!"
  • Something called a "Snooki" is pregnant.  This is grabbing international attention.  I'm guessing it's a Wookiee wearing a Snuggie, in which case a pregnancy would be pretty thrilling!  I wonder if news stations will film the birth live where the Snooki is being cared for in captivity.

P.S.  Yo, Micky Dolenz!  Try to have a happy birthday today.


Practice test

I haven't been writing because I think my brain is broken.

David came home at one point last week and found me wrapped in my Monkees throw blanket, listening to "Star Collector" and sucking my thumb; I haven't really done much since, aside from pick at food on my plate and wash my hair a few times.  And any time I even log in to SWTOR, I end up going, "meh..." then wandering away from the computer, only to wander around every room in the house before ending up at the computer again, only to log out of SWTOR and stare blankly at Reddit for hours.

The only thing that feels relatively gratifying is clearing out rubble from the master bedroom.  Maybe later tonight, I'll post a video I shot, where David is dressed head-to-toe in blue scrub-like protective gear, plus an elaborate breathing mask -- an outfit that would've made him look like a love child from the Cookie Monster and Darth Vader if it weren't for the video's main attraction, which is the destruction of my bedroom ceiling.