darbs street

Things:

- Okkervil talks about filesharing; new album

- ILLUSTRATED! GUIDE! TO MEDIEVAL TIMES KNIGHTHOODERY!

- Our dogwalker? Has a blog. Our dogwalker? Flamboyant, excellent, wonderful, and apparently ran out of gas at our house a few days ago (something I only know because: I'm currently reading his blog.) Our dog? Doing okay, ate an entire wooden kitchen spoon last night.

- The answer to your last questions are YES YES, and WE CAN ONLY HOPE.

- Here is what is happening: we have no kitchen. The cabinet installers came, and promptly left, after telling us they couldn't start work because first, we needed to hire an electrician (fearsome-gruesome words: "NOT UP TO CODE") and a plumber. The guy who hit our car? Disappeared. The parking garage attendant who saw the whole thing go down? Sudden amnesia and unwillingness to speak English. Me? Well, I leave for a few days of work meetings soon, so - good luck with all that, roommate.

- The media (google it) has finally decided to cover Tiny Houses. I like to imagine I am somewhat responsible.

- Last night was an onslaught of hilarity. Long story short: an orange teeshirt was needed, pronto. This involved a Dukes-Hazzard style squeal into a Springfield KMart parking lot, a frantic run-in, grabbing every warm-toned clothing item I could find (a Reeses-Pieces decorated woman's sleep-top, a ruched crop tank, a little boys size M red teeshirt, etc.) Eventually something more appropriate was found, and within the 1 min 36 sec shopping time limit, and the N made his v. important soccer game. Which, by the time we arrived (30 minutes late) had been downgraded to scrimmage status.

NOTHING IS EASY/I NEED A DRINK. When we got home, we avoided responsibility, ate some Subway, watched the "World Series of Pop Culture," which, note: I would kick so much ass at.


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Knowledge that probably would have come in handy about 10 years ago:

Recently, I keep finding out information that I should have already been aware of, leading to an overwhelming sense of - I dunno - stupidity. The past few weeks, I've just been kind of walking around in a flighty haze, but I feel like maybe it's not all my own fault? Like, the fact that an ex's parents own a B&B? Probably would have been a nice perk when I was 19.

The fuck, people. I know sometimes it's hard to share, and I'm not asking for major details here, just big facts. If my spouse comes home tomorrow and is like "oh, by the way, I own an island and have a 12 year old son," then things is gonna get rowdy round these parts.

Electricians and plumbing recommendations can be sent to pyginablanket (at) gmail.com.