Cleaning House Today...

... the way it SHOULD be done:

The ladies and gentleman (not pictured, he's doin' the bathroom as we speak) from Excellence House Cleaning do a fine, fine job.  Much better than **I** ever do.

Today's Happy Hour Soundtrack... and Clutter

More hippie music from Former Happy Days...

Must be because I had the flu for Christmas
And I'm not feeling up to par
It increases my paranoia
Like looking into a mirror and seeing a police car

But I'm not giving in an inch to fear
Cos I promised myself this year
I feel like I owe it to someone

When I finally get myself together
I'm gonna get down in that sunny summer weather
I'm going to find a space inside to laugh
Separate the wheat from the chaff 

Well, it ain't exactly "sunny summer weather" but it was sweet enough... and sunny enough... for an outdoor Happy Hour today.  I'm thinkin' we're semi-blessed in that the polar vortex made the briefest o' brief appearances.  Back to life as we know it, which includes space to laugh.

In other news... we went about reclaiming some counter space today, in that we finally bundled up all those old love letters that were taking up space and put them away.  And they did take up some space, which is to say three gallon-sized baggies worth:

That was then, this is now:

You'll note that we still have some work to do, what with that stack o' old correspondence sitting on the right hand side o' the counter.  But: baby steps!

The next project is to do the same sorta thing to my desk...

I really have trouble understanding how clutter seems to accumulate all by itself.  Mebbe things would be better if I had a maid.

Laundry Day...

... here at El Casa Imóvil De Pennington, about which... this:

Further on “Procrastination…” It occurred to me last evening that one of my “issues” these days is the decided lack of nagging in my life. Now most men would consider this particular lack a blessing, and I most certainly DO… most of the time. But, let’s be honest about this, Guys. A lot of stuff gets done around the house (other places, too) simply because the nag-ee desperately wants the nag-er to STFU. Or more diplomatic words to that effect. Men being men, inertia will raise its ugly lil head in the absence of “motivation.” We’ll do what’s expedient, we’ll do the absolute minimum of what’s required to keep us breathing, fed, and smelling less bad to those we encounter, and we’ll most definitely accomplish things that must be done in the face of penalties… such as paying the bills on time. But we’ll also put off to the VERY LAST MICROSECOND those things we find distasteful or even boring. If left to our own devices, that is.

In my current situation, for example, I find reading every single game recap and poring over obscure hockey stats infinitely preferable to, say, doing laundry. Especially since I haven’t even come close to tapping the emergency vintage tee shirt supply, and I don’t wear socks once the temp is consistently over 60 degrees. Ergo: there’s no real need to do laundry, yet. That changes, once the supply of clean clothes runs out. Or: I’ll be off to the laundromat in my LAST clean tee shirt at the very last microsecond.

Necessity is the Mom of Execution in My World. NOT invention, as is commonly thought.

Oh. I don’t want a live-in nag, thankyouverymuch, if you’re thinking along those lines.

Procrastination may be bad, but there are worse things in life.

Well, we don't have to hie our Old Ass off to the laundromat any longer, seein' as how we have our very own washer and dryer now.  But, that said, it's still a right royal Pain-In-The-Ass to do laundry and I ran it right down to the very last moment these past few weeks.  Which is to say we were but ONE tee-shirt from having to break out the vintage tees, linked above.  Like this:

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

Vintage Tees

Remember when I told you I had to do laundry coz I was down to “vintage” tee shirts? Well, I wore one of those self-same tee shirts out to the base yesterday, specifically this one:

And Boy-Howdy did I ever get some hard looks from some ol’ codgers. I felt like telling at least one of those guys “Hey, I’m not a Commie, it’s a souvenir.” And so it is…from one of my Moscow trips during the ‘90s. (I have NO idea what the text says, and I've asked around, too.)

I probably would have gotten approving smiles had I worn this one, instead:

The yellow font is hard to read: it says “Miller.” Make sense, now? I love this shirt; it was a gift from SN2 back when he was an enlisted sailor on a boomer...the USS James K. Polk.

Sigh.  So... laundry, and we're ALMOST done.  I've said it before and I'll say it again: "Life's been Hell since the maid quit."

One other thing: I've given up... completely... on tryin' to fold fitted sheets.  These days I just roll 'em up in a ball and then change the linen, immediately after they come out o' the dryer (or shortly thereafter).  The next time I buy linens... if there IS a next time... I'm only gonna buy TOP sheets.   I know how to make hospital corners and doin' that is infinitely preferable to wrestling with fitted sheets.  I HATE those damned things!

♫ ♪ I'd Been Thinkin' Lately I'd Get a Maid... ♪ ♫

Not the service I hired.

You Gentle Readers know this is a recurring theme here at EIP and we even have a label for these sorts o' posts.  Well, today we moved beyond the "thinkin'" stage and actually contracted for housecleaning services.  Tomorrow is our first appointment and we'll evaluate the services from a few angles, e.g., efficiency, cost-effectiveness, and thoroughness.  This might could be an on-going thang or I might get someone else.  Trial-'n'-Error Я Us.

I really do hate house cleaning.  I mean REALLY hate it.  OTOH, I feel guilty about doing this sorta thang... mainly coz I have ALL the time in the Free World to do what must be done.

I know: First World Problems.  We all have 'em.

Wherein We Bitch, Moan, and Complain...

... about the weather.  Currently:

Not the lil "today  is forecast to be warmer..." bit.  I sure as Hell HOPE so, coz this was yesterday:

We didn't stick our nose out the door at all yesterday.  Not once.  Our forecast for today was revised from what it was last night, when we weren't expected to break the freezing mark.  I'm thinkin' we still might not, based on the way things are at the moment.

Yesterday turned into a major housecleaning day, seein' as how we were housebound.  I suppose that's a Good Thing coz this place sure doesn't clean itself.  As a s'matter o' fact, I suspect there's someone who sneaks in and dirtys the place up while I'm out.  I fail to see exactly HOW this place can get so dirty seein' as how I'm the only guy here and I'm nothing if not fastidious.  For a guy.

If I ever catch that sumbitch he's TOAST.

♫ ♪ "I was thinkin' mebbe I'd get a maid..." ♪ ♫

More bitching... My house is COLD. I'm pretty sure it has something to do with the thermostat bein' in close proximity to a heating vent (brilliant design, that) coz when the living room is nice and toasty the rest of the place is chilly.  Beyond chilly, actually, and gettin' right down into cold territory.  I've also had my thermostat set at 74 freakin' degrees during this cold snap... up from the normal 70... and I'm still cold, even when layered in a long-sleeved shirt, sweatshirt, and/or sweater, with my spiffy fleece-lined slippers on my feet.  My lil portable space heater has been getting quite the workout when I'm noodling on the 'puter in the office.  Perhaps this is just another manifestation of gettin' old, coz you know how Old Folks are.  Could you hand me my shawl, please?

It will be better tomorrow, though.  As the ever-present "they" say... this too shall pass.

We've Seen This Movie Before

But that's OK... Play it again, Sam.

Sigh.  I'll have to remind myself to refrain from lookin' down while wanderin' about the house for a lil while more.  Note one of the labels on this post.

Beer me!



That's too depressing, by half.  I didn't mean it THAT way.

We Did NOT Keep the Sabbath

Not EVEN me

Today was a major house cleaning day, whereupon we vacuumed, mopped, dusted, Windexed ALL the mirrors (and the chrome and glass furniture), cleaned the sinks and showers, did laundry, and otherwise cleaned everythang that was in need o' cleaning.  In short: everythang except change the sheets.  About which... we hit the wall when it came time to do that.  We also figgered that particular chore can wait for another day, mainly coz there's no one about to appreciate or confer the bennies of clean sheets upon me.

But we're done now and are enjoying the fruits o' our labors and a cold Turbodog or two.  Why izzit that Happy Hour seems better when the house is spotless?

Here's a word to the wise:  do NOT go looking for images of male maids with "safe search" off.  Just sayin'.

Linkage & A Minor Bitch, Piss, and Moan (Or Two)

First... Blog-Bud Jim, aka Suldog, puts the Christmas ditty he penned to music.  And the resulting one-man-band performance is awesome.  We (and not the Royal We, I mean YOU, too) need to convince him to YouTube the song.  So comment appropriately.

Second:  Lex takes us flying in the Kfir, here and here.  Is there a BETTER post-military retirement gig than flying fighters as a civilian?  I think not.

―:☺:―

Department o' Miscellaneous Bitches & Complaints:   (1)  Remember a couple o' few days ago when I said we had a warm-up on the way?  Well, it's yet to arrive.  Yeah, it IS warmer, which is to say almost 50 degrees, but it's also windy, rainy, and blustery, accompanied by Mrs. Hippy levels of humidity.  There won't be an outdoor Happy Hour today, but we remain optimistic.  Mebbe tomorrow.

Well, mebbe not.  Dang.

(2)  I've been living in El Casa Inmóvil de Pennington for two and a half months now and I've yet to turn the water on in the guest bathroom's tub.  Let me clear: said tub has NEVER been wet.  Not once.  So, that said, why is the danged thing dirty?  I've been looking in that tub for a couple o' days now in the hopes it will somehow clean itself, or that perhaps the Cleaning Fairy will show up and do the obnoxious deed for me.  I haven't had ANY success in either case, so it looks like we'll have to add another chore to the ever-growing list.  A maid... A Man Needs A Maid. 

Plus Ça Change, La Deuxième Partie

We got off the dime and ran our errands today, thanks in no small part to the Virtual Nagging™ kindly provided by Occasional Readers Lou and Kris and even though we slept in until about the same hour as yesterday, which is to say well on the south side of the ten o'clock hour.  But the errands couldn't really be put off another day, for the food supply was perilously low and we needed to fill a prescription out at the Cannon Airplane Patch pharmacy.  So, we went.  Mission Accomplished, and all that.

We also stopped by the Class VI store and re-stocked the beer supply even though said supply was good enough to last another three or four days, at least.  The seasonal winter brews have hit the market and we picked up a couple o' sixers, to wit: Sammy Adams Winter lager and Blue Moon's Winter seasonal offering... Winter Abbey Ale.  I expected the beer snobs at BA to hate on the Winter Abbey Ale (coz it's from Coors, perish the thought), and some did.  But the overall consensus opinion is a C+, which ain't all THAT bad.  And the beer geeks rate the Sammy Adams a solid "B," so that's good news; that and the fact we've had pleasant experiences with this beer in the past.  That said, the beer was too warm for today's Happy Hour but we're looking forward to sampling one of each tomorrow afternoon.  Everyone needs a goal in life...

Plus Ça Change...

... plus c'est la même chose (link for the non-Francophones).  I made lotsa plans before going to bed last night or... more accurately... early this morning.  I even set my alarm phone for 0830 hrs to ensure I rolled out in sufficient time to get an early start to The Big(ger) City™ and then to Cannon Airplane Patch for to run the Usual, Customary, and Reasonable errands.  So... the alarm goes off at the appointed time and I did the entirely predictable thang: shut it off and rolled over for two more hours of beauty sleep, which always fails in its intended purpose.  Which is to say I'm not getting any more beautiful but I am most certainly well-rested.

So here we sit with one more cup o' morning coffee left to drink and the prospect of completing our errands vanishing into the ether.  I suppose there's always tomorrow and this seems to be the way my life of sloth and indolence works.  It takes me a day to think of what must be done, another day to plan for it, a day to put it off, and yet another day before I actually get around to the doing.  Or mebbe two.

I've said this before and I'll say it again: I'm in dire need of some serious nagging.  I don't miss that sorta "incentive" 95% of the time but when I need it, I REALLY need it.  Or mebbe I just need to get that maid I've been on about.

Domesticity, Part Deux

We put on our virtual apron today and did what must be done, domestic-wise.  Dusted (yet AGAIN!).  Unloaded the dishwasher (no, I'm not living out of the thing as I said I might).  Vacuumed.  Did a load of laundry.  And changed the sheets...

About which, this.  Every married couple develops lil shorthand expressions and "interesting" ways to communicate, be it good thangs or bad thangs.  One of the Good Thangs back in Former Happy Days was when The Second Mrs. Pennington would look at me and simply announce "clean sheets," followed by an expression that looked a LOT like this:  , only much sweeter and less evil.  Well, there might have been some evil there but it all depended, and we won't go any further than that.  That particular announcement might could have come at any time, but was most often delivered as I hit the door after work or mebbe after dinner.   I knew EXACTLY what that meant; the only thang open to conjecture was the timing: now?  Or later?

These days "clean sheets" means that and only that: the sheets are clean.  And the small amount of work associated with making the bed and doin' the laundry, of course.  (sigh)

Domesticity

That would be us today... what with doin' three loads o' laundry before noon.  One consisted of a week's worth o' dirty clothes and two consisted of sheets and pillow cases which were ostensibly clean when I put 'em into long-term storage in El Casa Móvil de Pennington.  But that was eight years ago and rust dust never sleeps, so into the washing machine they went.

So... that's done and the results have been folded and put away.  I use the term "folded" VERY loosely when it comes to fitted sheets, which were more or less wadded up in a semi-methodical manner.  That's yet another skill I've failed to master in my lifetime: folding fitted sheets.  Not that it matters.

So, apropos o' linens... I noticed a couple o' things today, both o' which are related to Former Happy Days.  First:  all my linens are queen-sized; my new bed is full-size.  There's an inherent mismatch there that results in a less than tidy bed-making experience, but one that is well-concealed by blankets and the bedspread.  The fact I have overly large sheets hasn't affected my sleep in any way, shape or form... and I'm too damned cheap to go buy new linens.

Second:  SOME stains never come out in the wash, even if those stains happen to be well over 14 years old.  Yet SOME stains bring back happy memories... oh, yes, they most certainly DO.  I got a couple o' wry grins on my face while folding those fitted sheets this morning... 

Possibly related:  I suppose one of the benefits of queen-sized beds and bedding is neither of you has to sleep in the wet spot, provided said wet spot is dead center in the middle of the bed.  And that's exactly where those grin-inducing stains were, strangely enough.  I don't know if that strategic positioning was her or me, or if it was planned or accidental... but it certainly looked planned.  We're always thinkin', yanno?

Busy Busy Busy

It's just noon and we've already been oot and aboot... and accomplished quite a bit while we were at it, too.  I established water and electric accounts for the new place, got an installation date for my fiber connection from Yucca Telecom, and ran by the post office to pick up change of address cards.  Let me say this about that...

Get Off My Lawn!

Why?  Those handy, dandy change of address cards don't exist any longer.  USPS is SO 21st century now, in that you have to go to USPS.com and file your change of address there.  I'll bet THAT works really well... but I must admit I haven't tried it yet.  Still and even, this IS the post office we're talking about, innit?  You'd think those post cards worked well enough... but NO.  To say I'm apprehensive is understating the case.

I'll be without inner-nets for about ten days or so after I move, too.  Yucca gave me an installation appointment of 9/26 and my projected move date is on or about 9/15.  I don't really expect to move on the 15th, having already been advised by the property management company that that particular date will prolly slip.  But I'd BETTER be moved by the 26th, nu?

So.  We also went to Wally-World and bought food (and more beer), seein' as how the commissary was closed for Labor Day when I was out at the base yesterday.  Now I'm debating whether to kick off Happy Hour early or take a nap.  Decisions, decisions...

Thinking About Options

I've been givin' some thought lately to changin' my lifestyle or, more specifically, to changin' my residence.  There's a lot to like about livin' in El Casa Móvil de Pennington... it's all mine to begin with (which makes the living rather inexpensive), and there's the undeniable cachet of livin' with all the other Swells here in Beautiful La Hacienda Trailer Park.  Still and even there ARE times when I think more space would be nice, a dishwasher would be nice, a washer and dryer of my own would be nice, and a normal-sized fridge and freezer would be nice.  And closets, plural.  All the stuff I had back in Former Happy Days, the stuff I gave up to go mobile, in other words.

So we received this in Friday's mail:

I seriously entertained goin' over to that event today but decided against it when I found out the place is a 96-unit assisted-living center... not to mention the fact it looks like your standard, run-o'-the-mill apartment building.  Nope... ain't gonna do that.  I want sumthin' more like a condo and I know those things exist.  So, it's back to the drawing board for more research.  I'm not in any hurry.

OTOH, I'm still thinkin' about gettin' a maid, which is the sort of "assisted living" I'm really in need of.  I'm lookin' for a nice, fine, upstanding mature woman who wouldn't mind doin' a lil light cleaning and cooking for a gentleman, among other things.  Someone of the "upstairs maid" persuasion, kinda like this:

Yeah... me and Neil:

I was thinking that maybe I'd get a maid
Find a place nearby for her to stay.
Just someone to keep my house clean,
Fix my meals and go away.

A maid. A man needs a maid.
A maid.

It's hard to make that change
When life and love turns strange.
And old.

Yup: "A man needs a maid..."

A Minor Observation

One of the best things about my vision since cataract surgery is how much cleaner El Casa Móvil de Pennington appears to be.  That's because my eyes were corrected for distance vision and things in the middle distance and close-up are less than distinct.  So, one can conveniently ignore... or fail to see... the accumulation of "stuff" on the floor and elsewhere in one's daily life.  Until one leaves one's reading glasses on and walks into the Little Room to take a leak, that is.

Zounds.  I've been in cleaner gas station rest rooms.  Seriously.

So, it's 20 minutes later and we now have a sparkling bathroom.  My DIL... who keeps an immaculate house... must have been horrified when she came to visit a couple o' weeks ago.  Or mebbe not: the standard greeting guests get when they enter the premises is "don't look down."  There's more reason than ever for that warning these days and I'm beginning to think I really need a maid.

Scrapin' the Bottom o' the Bloggin' Barrel VIII

Another installment in a series o' occasional posts that fall into the category of "when all else fails."  I forgot to tell ya about one of THE most important things to happen in my so-called life, Gentle Reader, to wit: we have found another wash'n'fold service.  And none too soon, either, as we'd exhausted the Emergency Tee Shirt supply last week and were down to wearin' stuff we reserve for Corporate Casual days, which is to say shirts with actual collars and Dockers.  I just HATE havin' to look my age, yanno?

So... here's what 25 pounds o' laundry looks like:

What costs 25 Yankee Dollars, including the spiffy gift wrapping:

Ahem.  Thank The Deity At Hand for small gifts, as it's said.  I just wish ladies bearin' gifts wouldn't call so danged early in the morning to tell me my laundry is ready for pick up, yanno?

Still Stuck On Stoopid, Part Trois

I bought a new shampoo during my most recent re-supply run, a two-in-one combination shampoo/conditioner.  I recently discovered the benefits of using a conditioner in this ultra-dry climate of ours, the main bennie being conditioner keeps my hair from standing straight up after my well-meaning barberess takes waaay too damned much off the top, despite my repeated instructions to "leave it longish on top, please."  But we digress and we're supposed to be talking about shampoo.  I noticed my hair just doesn't seem as clean since buying that new stuff and, further, it takes a lot of shampoo to produce what passes for lather.  And I like a LOT o' lather.

So... there I was... standing in the shower today, getting ready to wash my hair when I look closely at the label on my new shampoo only to find it's NOT a two-in-one product, it's just conditioner.  Period.  Full stop.  No damned wonder this stuff doesn't lather up like my previous brand and no damned wonder my hair doesn't feel as clean as it used to.

I amaze myself sometimes.  I'm beginning to think I really need a maid.  Or a minder.

Entertainment

So... there I was, sitting in my dentist's comfortably-appointed waiting room about ten minutes before my allotted time with the Lovely Victoria, Queen of Dental Hygienists, exchanging small talk about the weather with Jana, Queen of Dental Appointments, you know... bursting pipes, wind-chills direct from the upper reaches of the North Pole... stuff like that.  Whereupon the Lovely Victoria strides right up to me and sez "What are you doing here, Buck?  Your appointment is tomorrow!"  (That's the Readers Digest version, she was much kinder than that.)

Well.

We made a lame joke about needing to spend the briefest of times with our favorite ladies on Valentine's Day and beat a hasty retreat, noticing the badly-hidden smirks on the faces of those occupying the waiting room.  But NOT the staff, of course, for they are FAR too kind to participate in the needless embarrassment of their favorite semi-senile Old Guy.

Oh, well.  At least we got out for a bit yesterday and it wasn't to Wally-World.

―:☺:―

We returned home to El Casa Móvil De Pennington, mucked about with the water and stuff for a while, and then adjourned to the verandah for an extremely satisfying outdoor Happy Hour.  We had been reading the Autobiography of Mark Twain, Vol. 1 but found all the academic notes and references prior to the actual S. Clemens bits way too damned enlightening for our tastes.  We're much more into entertainment than enlightenment these days so we put the Autobiography on the virtual shelf for later slogging and hied our self off to Amazon where we bought Tom Clancy's latest.  And we ARE entertained now.  It's good to see Mr. Clancy back on form; I thought he'd run his string out with the last thing abomination he put out.

There will be more al fresco entertainment this afternoon.  After I get back from the dentist's, of course.

Stuck On Stoopid, Again

Or "Too Poor to Pay Attention," your choice.  I've discovered the ultimate oxymoron as a result of not paying attention whilst shopping:

What's the POINT of "fat-free" half & half?  Half & half, by definition, is HALF cream, and cream is FULL o' fat, nu?  Sweet Jesus, but the only thing dumber than its very existence is my stoopidity in buying it.  A pox on Wally-World stock boys for putting this abomination where the REAL half & half normally sits.  That's my story and I'm stickin' to it.

I have a full quart of this crap and I'm too damned cheap to just throw it out and go get the Real Deal.  But I'm thinkin' things just MIGHT change.  Bleah!

It Got Up and Went

That would be my get up and go, of course, which is true in both the micro and macro senses.  I've known about the macro sense for a number of years now, which is to say: inertia.  It's why my sidebar not-so-proudly states "...currently semi-permanently docked in Portales, NM."  At some point in time we shall strike through the "semi" bit as well, given that we're coming up on our eighth year of being parked here on The High Plains of New Mexico.  I'm the semi-reluctant beneficiary of the world's longest one-month visit, evah.  Or the world as I know it, anyhoo.  You DID know that's how I came to be here, right?  SN1 was stationed at Cannon Airplane Patch back in 2002 and I was in transit between the Old Life in SFO and the New Life in either Austin or Corpus Christi.  I stopped here in P-Ville for that "one month visit" and somehow got held up on the way to that New Life. 

Ah, there's the macro bit.  History, for the most part, and we have a grudging acceptance of the part that is the here and now.  I'm oh-so-slightly concerned about the micro, though.  I have a shopping list with about 20 items on it, enough to justify a trip out to the commissary.  But my inner eight year old is sitting sulkily in the forefront of my consciousness and  refuses to move because he "doesn't wanna."  There's that and then there's the fact that only one item on said grocery list is in the "essential" category, so we will head out to Wally-World instead of the base to get that and a couple of other things.  Eventually.  Some time today.  Probably.

I really need some world-class nagging from time to time.  An elderly gent left to his own devices gathers a lot o' moss.  Metaphors: shaken, not stirred.

Related:  Do a Google image search for "petulant child" just for a laugh.  You get an amazing mixed bag of totally UNrelated images.  Google is a wonderful thing indeed.