Busted My Ass

Busted it good.

Precious Poodles--

Do you ever have days when you think you're going backward in life, not forward? Days when your bumps and scrapes are just the ones you had when you were a kid? Well, your ol' Sweet Tea's havin' one of those days herself.

So there I was. I'd decided to try my hand at a re-upholstery project (more on that in a later post). The thing about re-upholstery is that first you have to de-upholster whatever it is that you're going to re-upholster. In my case, that's these here ottomans:

Nast. Try not to focus on how hiddy these things are; they'll get better. If my re-upholstery project turns out to be a bust, I'll just burn them and invite y'all over to roast marshmallows over the flames.

Anyway, taking these things apart is no small task. You have to use a chisel to get in there and remove about a gazillion staples (kind of like when I re-did my little sewing chair). And those staples are in there good, folks, which means that there's the occasional slip of the hand, followed by curse words and bleeding. 

War wounds. Taken the morning after the battle. Waaaaaaaaaahhhh!

Anyway, my hand was killing me. I decided I'd done enough and called it a night. When I woke up the next morning, my hand was throbbing. The inside of my hand was bruised from gripping the chisel so tightly.

Just as you're rolling your eyes reading this, Lucille did the exact same thing. She cut me a hard side-eye.

She told me to suck it up, get out of bed, and let her out for her morning call of doody.

Well. Apparently, it iced here in Street Lewie last night, because when I let Goose out to run down the outside stairs into the backyard, just as she turned her head back over her shoulder and said, "Make sure you have my breakfast ready before I come back in," her little feet slid right out from under her and she tumbled down the icy stairs:

Shit! I didn't even realize ice was in the forecast! I poured warm water over the stairs to melt the ice and then headed out to the garage to get my ice-melter stuff. Note to self: when there's ice on the stairs, there's also likely ice on bricks. And...here's my backyard, folks...guess what happened:

Funny enough, you can see the container of ice-melter right there in the window of my garage. So close, yet so far away.

Try not to be distracted by the sexiness of my sweatpants; focus on my pride- life-threatening injuries here, people. And that little scrape is now swollen and bruised, so...sympathy, please. 

And that's just my wrist--you should see my ass! 

*You're thinking to yourself: Dat ass should've provided plenty of padding. She's fine. Well, kids, bricks are hard. I'm NOT okay, and your sympathy is appreciated.*

Anyway, I've got the bumps and scrapes of childhood all over again. Don't let this happen to you. Let's be careful out there.

Well Hung

Gentle Bleaders--

Well, the MLK holiday was definitely a day on and not a day off for my little Lucille. Lil girl earned her keep and earned it good.

We been livin' in this here house (aka Josephine) for a little bit now and the walls downstairs are (finally) no longer mustard yellow, army green (not that there's anything wrong with that), and slit-your-wrists gray. (All of which makes me realize that I need to do a post showing the paint transformation. Consider it on my to-do list.)

Anyway, I decided we'd hang some stuff on the wall this weekend. When I told Lucy that's what we'd be doing, she said, "Wait. What? You crazy, girl." It's all in the eyes. Witness:

"Wait."

"What?"

"You crazy, girl."

After I showed her the back of my hand, we got to work. Because we had multiples to hang, we traced around our pictures and hung those on the walls so we could get a good idea of what was what:

Here are the pics we needed to hang in the doorway of the main hallway, facing into the dining room:

And here's how their tracings looked:

And here's how they finally looked hanging on the wall. Good work, Goose!

Then I needed to hang something in the big ol' wall space down the main hall. I decided to hang a mishmash of mirrors I'd collected over the years from flea markets, estate sales, the Salvation Army, this-n-that shops, and--ahem--the trash. I laid them out on the floor to get an idea of what I wanted:

Then I made Lucy trace and cut (like the slave driver I am). Then we hung the cutouts on the wall until we were happy:

Then I handed Lucy a hammer and nail, made myself a cocktail, and told her to get that little ass to WORK:

Here's Goose, admiring her handiwork (sitting on a rug that was purchased at an estate sale just this weekend):

There's a lot left to be done, but we're on our way. Goose is just a little dog, you see, so these things take time.

Falcon Crest

Delicate little meadowlarks--

Because making big announcements just isn't my style, I haven't been shouting from the rooftops a recent significant development in my life: I bought a house. Just moved in and all, so my to-do list is pretty big. One of the things on my to-do list is replacing the light fixtures--they look like they came straight out of 1983, or off the set of "Falcon Crest." Falcon Crest, indeed...read on.

So there I was, unpacking/settling/organizing in the kitchen when Lucille The Attack Dog started barking at some sound coming from the fireplace in the front room. There was a crazy banging noise coming from up in the chimney, but I figured it was the wind.

Lucy The Attack Dog

Fast forward about an hour. My organizing had moved to the front of the house. I was standing there, hands on hips, staring right toward the fireplace where the noise had been, trying to decide whether I wanted to move the rugs around. And--I SWEAR--A BLACK BIRD SWOOPED RIGHT THE EFF OUT and started flying around. After flying back and forth between the two front rooms, it decided to land on the chandelier that hangs in the very front room, close to the fireplace.

Witness:

Try to see through your seething jealousy of my super-awesome brass-and-glass chandelier and focus on the story, kids.

Anyway, it was crazy. The bird flew back and forth between the two rooms. I screamed every time it swooped down to go from one chandelier to the other, Lucy was freaking out, and I just knew the bird was gonna shit all over everything.

The bird kept flying over to a window in the room I had first been standing in, but I didn't think I could open it--the previous owner had painted all the windows shut, and prying them open was something I planned to get to when the weather got warmer.

I opened the front doors. Lucy got all excited, so I put her leash on her to keep her under control. So there we were: me running from room to room, trying to shoo the bird out the doors, Lucy excited to be on her leash, barking up a storm, and the terrified bird threatening me with shredded feathers and shit splats, just wanting out.

I called Critter Control. Ol' girl said, "They can come out, but they'll charge you an arm and a leg. You should just open a door or window."

What do you think I did? I was not about to part with a damn dime to get rid of this bird. I let go of Lucy on her leash (front door still open), climbed up onto the windowsill, used my superhuman strength, and pried that painted-shut window open. (Side note: it was 27 degrees today!) After chasing the bird back and forth for a few more minutes, he finally flew out.

Here's what finally became the exit window. And again with the Falcon Crest chandeliers.

So I closed the window. Then I went to close the front doors. Then I realized I hadn't seen Lucy in a while. LUCY! I shouted her name down the street. I ran back in to put on my shoes. DON'T WORRY, LUCY, MOMMY'S ON HER WAY!

Then...look what came walking cautiously down the stairs:

"Oh...hey, mom. Is the bird still here? My was upstairs. Not because my was scared, but you were just doing such a good job and all...just wanted to be out of your way."

This Guy.

This Guy gets no respect at work:

This Guy gets no respect from the wife:

This Guy gets no respect from his kids.

Hell, This Guy doesn't even get any respect from the dog:

This Guy ain't takin' it no more! This guy sure as hell ain't takin' it from Douchey McFancyCar:

Kick ass.

Thanks to Sweet Tea Sis and her good friend Kelly. :)

Please Say You've Done This, Too

Gentle kittens--

We've all been there, right? We're driving in to work, listening to the radio, pulling in to a parking spot, and then...a song...a song we just CAN'T TURN OFF comes on. Please tell me I'm not the only one who's decided to walk in to work a few minutes late to listen to a song I love:

Am I the only one who gets the weeps over that? But, man, that doesn't stop me from pretending that I can SING, bitch! Right there in my car in the parking lot at work!

Anyway, when I realize that I need to lock it up and head on in to work, I switch the station back to my usual so that it can greet me when I get back in the car at the end of the day, and...oh, Miss Dolly:

Seriously. You can't listen to that and not smile.

Anyway...y'all have done that, right? Let yourself be late for work to listen to a song? What songs are worth it?

The Ol' Shanghai Surprise

It was 2013, and Destini hadn't been this excited since she'd passed her GED: her new restaurant, Peking House, was finally opening.

She'd come into a little bit of money when her boyfriend Enos gave her a POWER BALL for Christmas (the lottery ticket, you perv--not what you were thinking. Sheesh). It had always bugged her that Enos did his Christmas shopping on Christmas Eve down at the Kum-N-Go, but this time it worked out.

Destini and Enos spent the winnings judiciously: they became regulars on the NASCAR circuit, they were on a first-name basis with every employee of every Holiday Inn Express in the continental US, and they ate every meal at the Western Sizzlin. But one night, when a grease fire shut down the Western Sizzlin, Enos and Destini had no other options but the Grand Oriental Buffet.

Even though Destini had never had Asian food, she loved it immediately, and she knew right then how she would spend her windfall: she would open a Chinese restaurant that served not a big ol' buffet, but a delicious, focused menu of the finest American excuses for Chinese food this town had ever seen.

Opportunity met luck and Jesus' loss became Destini's gain when the First Church of the Last Chance World on Fire Revival and Military Academy lost its lease in the strip mall, right between the Ninety-Nine Cent Store and the Dollar General.

The Peking House was a success! Every night, every seat was filled as customers dined on Stinky Tofu, Caterpillar Fungus Duck, Five Colors Fish Cake, Beef Chow Fun, Fuqu Kitten, Deep Fried Fish Balls, Old Duck Stew, Sauteed Scrimps, and Dogpoo Pork.

Destini worked as the hostess, and Enos began to notice that one customer--Junior--seemed to be enjoying the Peking House a little too much, if I ain't bein' too subtle. Even though Destini assured Enos that there was nothing to worry about, Enos had a bad feeling about Junior. Never trust a guy named Junior, Enos always said. He will bang your girl and take your lottery money. 

One night, when Destini called and said she'd be working late, Enos jumped in his Silverado and screamed into the parking lot on two wheels. He checked the hostess table..nothing. He checked the dining room, then the kitchen...nothing. And then...he walked into the freezer...and there...on a box of frozen duck beaks...Junior Spudmaker was putting the ol' Hong Kong Ding Dong to the love of his life.

Enos couldn't think. He ran out of the Peking House, picked up three rocks, and took aim: