Well, a 12-hour work day, but not quite done, as hoped. Mid-afternoon I was starting to think someone somewhere was doing it on purpose. The word “clusterfuck” was uttered. Broken car (Chad’s, not mine), incompetent CAA dispatchers, forgotten keys, ill-fitting door, wrong light fixures, carpet guy couldn’t come…

Ahh well, no matter. Progress was still made. All the new fish are still alive. The kitchen floor is clean enough to eat off of. One of the two new doors is up. The new light fixtures look fabulous. Daryl’s crap is out of the living room. And the tow truck driver was hot. Quite my cup of tea, too: tall, dark, handsome, and wicked of grin. Alas, we both had places to be… And really, when one has been scrubbing for six hours already and is wearing no makeup, a paint-covered t-shirt and a Haliburton dinner jacket, one is not at one’s most alluring. 🙂

Had an amusing domestic moment mid-evening. My brother was coming up from the basement and I was in the kitchen, and he asked me to get him a beer from the fridge. As he finished asking he got to the kitchen doorway and saw that I was, in fact, on my hands and knees wielding a scrub brush. Needless to say, my reply was, “I’m on my hands and knees scrubbing your goddamned kitchen floor, and you holler at me to bring you a beer? What are we, fucking married?” to which he giggled and hollered, “Get me a beer, woman!” A year ago, this would NEVER have happened.

In lieu of triumphant hollering, please accept this photo, taken this afternoon at the Timmy’s at Fischer-Hallman and University (where I spent quite some time), of Santa. With a package. (No, not that kind of package…)

Santa with a package.

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