The south is nice and all…

But sometimes I am so ashamed of my state. Once again the “Don’t Say Gay” bill is working its way through the Tennessee legislature.
This is the most ridiculous bill I have heard of in quite awhile. All it will support is the further stigmatization of gay people; a group who already feels out of place in the majority of the bible belt.

Here is the latest local news article about this bullshit bill: (I’m having trouble with the hyperlink. Sorry.)

http://www.wbir.com/rss/article/206082/2/Dont-Say-Gay-bill-advances

-K

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oh. hi.

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight.

Did I mention that we were busy? I hope so. I hope the complete and utter lack of posting also showed that.

Let’s recap:

*On December 31st, 2010 we moved into a new rental house with a one year lease.
*In mid-April 2011, the owners of the house [heretoforthwith knows as Dickheads] (who had put it up for rent after
it wouldn’t sell when the husband’s job had him transfer out of state TWICE) called our agent to tell her that,
“Hey. The job is moving me back to [local city] and we want our house back.” Period. End of story. So begins
rental hell. With that came several months of neighbours-who-were-previously-sweet-and-super-friendly-and-who
we-later-found-out-were-friends-with-Dickheads [now to be known as Fatties or Assholes Next Door] constantly
calling and complaining about noise from guitars and band practice (they had been totally fine with it for four
months!), sometimes IN TEARS, and traffic from Ben’s students and grass being unmowed (for more than five days,
if it wasn’t mowed, they called our agent complaining about snakes–in a goddamned subdivision!!!). It was awful.
Truly truly horrendously awful. Our sweet sweet agent, who technically worked for The Dickheads, was constantly
apologizing for their retched behavior. Keep in mind, this awfulness lasted NON-FUCKING-STOP from mid-April thru
mid-September. (Including a story from September about me walking out of the shower to find The Dickheads
circling the house with open blinds.)
*On May 7th, 2011, our ten-year anniversary, we got married. It was a semi-elopement that we didn’t tell anyone
about (grandparents got 10 days notice to attend) and was more stress/work than anticipated. Because our
anniversary fell on a Saturday, that meant the courthouse was closed; which meant we had to hire someone; which
meant more money; which also meant we had to have a location in which we could be married; which meant more
money; we wanted to write out our own ceremony; which meant a fuckload of time and even more money…you see
where this is going? All along with the news that The Dickheads wanted to push us out. But you know, it was still
a whole hell of a lot of fun. Plus we had a badass four-day honeymoon of fun.

Sister made the most lovely star garland in our favourite colours for our location.

*Mid-May 2011–Very-Early-August 2011: When we got back from the honeymoon we started looking for houses to
buy…well, first we started talking about buying a house A LOT more seriously than we had planned on doing
(original buy date would be sometime in 2012) and then we started looking to buy. And we looked and looked and
looked and looked and said no to a shitload on the internet and viewed a few houses before rejecting them and our
sweet agent (that same dear hippie lady who kept apologizing for The Dickheads continuing harassment) was about to
give up on us when she e-mailed me one morning with a link to a newly-listed house and the subject line, “LOOK!
LOOK! LOOK!” and inside all it said was, “This one came up in my search this morning and it seems perfect for
you!!!” and it was ADORABLE! And looked so good!! And so very Us. We made an appointment for two days later to
view it and when we pulled up, Dear Agent walked out of the house and told us in no uncertain terms that if we
didn’t buy this house, she will fire us as her clients. Of course we loved it and of course we put in an offer and
of course we ended up buying it. And of course we are absolutely completely and totally head-over-heels-in-love
with our house. OUR HOUSE. It’s beautiful.

Hastily taken photo of front door seconds before we moved in.

I plan on writing a huge post about buying/moving with pictures of the house…but please, be patient for I will
scream if pushed to do too much too fast. My poor Rock Star nearly had a meltdown at the signing of the contract
for the bid for the house. Near. Catastrophic. Meltdown. My wonderful man does not accept change easily. But he
did. And we did. And at the first of August so we began the house-buying process. (Details to come, I hope.)

*Within days of putting in a bid, having the bid countered, signing the contract, having an official house
inspection, etc. etc. etc. we went on our already-planned 10-day vacation to see wonderful people we knew in
Virginia and to tour D.C. (I’d been twice, but my museum-loving Rock Star had never visited). After the incredible
stress of the first part of August, seeing my sister, my lovely and amazing friend, and Ben’s very best friend was
just what we needed to calm the ever-living-fuck down. We first saw Sister and her fabulous dog, Lizzy, then we
stopped at the ever-wonderful Erin’s house, then we trucked up to see Josh in DC. It was fantastic seeing my
sister as it always is when she lives too far away from me; and spending time with Erin is about as happy and
peaceful as any time I’ve ever spent. Josh was an amazing sport about letting us crash at his place and showed us
some wonderful sites (sights?) in the downtown area. With him as our guide we had some of the most amazing food we
had ever eaten. I’m so glad we know wonderful people who enjoy food and history as much as we do. We really do
have fantastic friends.

Happy Lizzy looking for a bellyrub

Me standing inside an Alexander Calder sculpture at the National Gallery of Art's Sculpture Garden

Comet Ping Pong's The Smokey & The Yaley--HOLY SHIT! You have to try this pizza!! It's too good to be true!!

Ben in awe of ancient mummy in Smithsonian Museum of Natural History

Josh and Ben about to enjoy the hell out of their Dogfish Sampler of various beers

*We came back mid-August (nearly bypassing my birthday entirely [cue: guilt and extreme sadface] and began to
finalize the closing and go through the entirely stressful closing process as well as the extremely stressful
packing-cleaning-moving-cleaning-unpacking process and let me tell you, we have a lot of shit. No. Really. I don’t
think anyone understands just how much shit two childless twenty-somethings can acquire when they live in a house
together for several years. It’s way too much. It’s embarrassing. But on September 17th, 2011 we moved in to what
(if we so choose) could be the last house in which we ever live. [cue: angelic voices singing heavenly tune]

*Since then we have cleaned, unpacked, painted, rearranged, cleaned, unpacked, painted, painted painted,
rearranged, unpacked, cleaned, painted, rearranged, painted, painted, unpacked, painted, tiled, painted,
rearranged and back to tiling and painting some more. That’s house stuff. And [re: hopefully/skeptically] soon I
plan on posting more detail on house stuff if only for my own records.

*October 22nd was the Homecoming Day for my five-year college reunion. Not only did the beautiful Erin come to town
to visit, but I got to catch up with some of my favourite old art alums (how fuckin’ snooty does that sound?!?)
and that was a metric ton of fun–plus we came home with a beautiful piece of art by the always wonderful Robin
Grace Venable who provided the alumni exhibit this year.

*BUT Halloween is our favourite holiday and last year we were in the process of looking for a new place and had
previously thought we would be moving in October and didn’t decorate at all and just threw a meager little
Halloween party. This year we knew we’d be only five weeks in our new house, but we couldn’t forgo the annual
Petler Inn Halloween Bash, so we invited costumed close friends to our transitioning house for an awful good time.
And the week prior, we participated in something we had always dreamed of doing…sort of: It has been a life goal
of mine (and now the Rock Star’s too) to die some gruesome grisly death in a B-horror zombie movie. Our super
talented friend, Ben (affectionately called Other Ben), participated in a local grindhouse-style horror trailer
contest to go along with a local Horror Fest our town throws each year, and we got to be the zombies!! We had way
too much fun making it, and even though Other Ben’s didn’t win on account of it being “too pretty” and “not
grindhouse enough” (although we counter that the genre he drew, “Knoxploitation” is AWFUL) it was still one of the
best ones entered and we LOVED it.

As for our costumes this year, we went all out for the zombies for the movie and were so focused on cleaning
up/painting/tiling the house before the party, that we didn’t even start to think of anything until seven-ish
hours before the party was supposed to start (with us having to work in between that time-frame). Ben went as
Rorschach from The Watchmen graphic novel and I went as a clean basket of laundry–I was particularly proud of the
crumpled dollar bill and wad of thread I hot-glued to my tshirt along with socks and a sock on my headband. Not
too shabby for last minute; my costume problem also had to account for being able to literally throw it on when I
got home from work in less time than it takes to pee (also accounts for the utter lack of makeup as I drove home
like a maniac and ran upstairs to don Halloween garb). Even though it was small and not-that decorated, it was
still an super fun time with awesome people. And we’ve already started planning out next year and the full on
epicness that will occur.

in zombie garb for pseudo-movie

That damn basket bruised my thighs, I was so sore the next day.

Funnily enough, to answer nerd questions everywhere, he wasn't wearing anything underneath that coat.

And with that, I have skimmed my life forward to present day. There is so much left out and so much more to add. And [WITH GREAT HOPE] I will get back into my regular blogging schedule; which is to say, two or three times a month.

cheers!
-K

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Too Many Willies

So I can write about Springtime, showing up with her skirts and sandals and then after a wonderfully elaborate teasing session leaving us for almost two weeks of 45-55 degree weather of grey skies and cloudiness.
I need to write about our big wonderful brand new couch of which we and everyone who visits us is so very enamored.
I need to post the one about traveling in a car for over six hours (ONE WAY) with three boys just so I could meet out my dream of seeing Kevin Smith live.
I’ve got another Beguilements that’s not-so-patiently waiting to be posted.
I should tell you about Ben’s band arc, playing their first big show for Apocalyptica two weeks ago. And the other big shows they’ve got lined up for this Friday and the next.
I could just tell you about how we’ve been so very busy lately and I feel bad about not regularly posting.

But I’ve just got much too big a case of the hibbie jibbies (official diagnosis) to really think about much else other than this SUPREMELY gross fact:
We have ants, TONS of ants, in our bathroom; and we lured them there.
(Can I please get a huge interweb collective “EEEWWWWWWW!!!” from everyone?)
The first coldish (I know I’ve got anyone living up North getting mad at me for calling 50 degrees coldish right now when you guys are still fighting off winter awfulness) day we had since Spring started, we both noticed we kept finding a random ant running around the house; sometimes in the living room, sometimes on the laptop, sometimes in our bathroom, rarely in our kitchen, and it has always been just one random ant sighting a day, sometimes less than that. Then last Sunday, I noticed that there were about a dozen ants milling around our bathroom, all kind of by the air vent. [We're still not sure if they're coming from the air vent, if our turning the heat back on blew them up through the air vent, if they're seeking the warmth of the air vent, or if I can use the words "air vent" any more in this sentence.] We decided we’d better try and figure out a way to protect our house before we end up with a full-scale invasion.
Of course, my first reaction is always find the most toxic poison we can, spray our house down and protect our little dog in the process.
Ben wanted to try a natural home remedy first. He soaked cotton balls in a mixture of hot water, borax, and sugar. We then placed them in our bathroom (by the air vent) and waited. The theory being that the ants will be lured in by the sugar, take minuscule bits back to their queen and the borax will kill the whole colony [cue: Maniacal Laughter]. Unfortunately, this also means that you need to let the ants come and get the borax. So Sunday night, we didn’t really see any ants, around 10:00 AM on Monday morning a few started milling about the cotton balls, but as the day wore on, we began to see ants, lots and lots and lots of ants. It makes my skin crawl. All those teeny-tiny black bodies milling around my boudoir is filthy-looking.
Ben says we need to wait to make sure the ants are collecting enough to supply their colony and feed their queen. When I asked him how long that would be he said, “I dunno. Until we stop seeing so many ants, I guess.” How very scientific.
All I want to do is scrub down my bathroom. It’s all I think about. I guess it could be worse, when I worked at The Worst Place in the Whole World located in Scumbag Central, people would come in with roaches crawling in their stuff AND ON THEM. And our last house had a major camel cricket problem, which is super creepy as they can jump on you. So ants, given prospective, aren’t that bad. But I’m still confused as why we’re not really seeing them in the kitchen. Ben even placed two cotton balls on our countertops and we haven’t seen or collected a single ant there.

Now, if you’ll please excuse me, I am going to go scrub my skin off with a brick and lye soap.

-K

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“Winter is nature’s way of saying, ‘Up yours.’”

*the above quotation is from Robert Byrne*

Oh, we’ve had all sorts of Winterish adventures here; many more than any in Ye Ole Petler Inn would like to see. And we’re a bit worried about all this awful weather as we’re going to be moving in nine days (!!!ANDNOTAFUCKINGTHINGISPACKED!!!); Christmas is in three days; and the winter solstice was last night (although I missed the eclipse as it was way too cloudy above our house). Also, I would like to put on record that we live in East Tennessee. And although my “No-Good-Very-Bad Weather” may not be a flurry to those in northern states, but let me tell you: We are not used to true winters. At the very idea of snow, we panic. We’re not used to it. We’re not prepared for it. It’s not good at all.

Winterness Adventure #1:

On my way to work last Sunday afternoon (the live show runs from 6pm-midnight EST), I received a call from my boss/friend, Brandon, to check on the progress in my commute. Here is the conversation (also, it should be noted that I P-A-N-I-C at the idea of inclement weather and having to drive in it; during snow/ice possibilities, I become almost unbearable):

him: So, how’re you doing?
me: Fine. …why?
him: You driving okay? –You’re still coming?
me: What? I’m [halfway there]. It’s totally clear, not a cloud in the sky…. …why?
him: ……oh. ….no reason.
me: …WHAT?!?!?
him: Ummm….it’s snowing here…
me: Snowing?!? Is it bad?! HOW BAD?!?
him: Oh! Not bad! Not bad at all! In fact, the sun’s coming up!!
me: Bullshit. HOW BAD?!?! Did you call me to freak me out? Should I be worried? What does it look like?!?!
him: …it’s all sunshine. It’s great up here.
***[to note: the studio where I work is at the base of some pretty famous mountains, at a much higher elevation than my home]***
me: ………
him: ….it’s all white.
me: WHAT?!?!?! ALL WHITE?!?! ARE YOU SERIOUS?!?! IT’S SNOWING?!?!?! HOW LONG HAS IT BEEN SNOWING?!?!?
him: Only about an hour…maybe less.
me: AND IT’S ALL WHITE?!?!?!?!?!
him: Yeah, and it’s sticking. I’m watching cars almost hit each other trying to get out of the parking lot. It’s pretty bad. Be very careful.
me: ….shit. shitSHITshitSHITshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitSHITSHITSHITSHITSHITshitshitshitSHIT!!!!
him: You’re almost here. You’ll be okay. Just drive slow and be very careful.
me: …
him: See you soon!

Needless to say, I did make it to work; I did panic for the rest of my commute even more the few times I felt my tires slide on the snow/ice; and I continued to panic for the duration of our six-hour show. However I must note, panic makes that long six-hour shift go by oh-so-very-quickly. I hardly noticed the time passing because I was much too busy FREAKING THE FUCK OUT. And it was bad. I kept asking the support staff to the hosts what the weather is looking like outside. CONSTANT VIGILANCE! Little good it could do me. I was stuck in the show for the duration. And when it was all over, we locked up the studio and went outside.
And the world was white. Oh-so-very-white. Virginal. Except what I was thinking wasn’t virginal at all. It was more along the lines of OH-HOLY-SHIT-WHAT-ARE-WE-GOING-TO-DO?!?!-WHAT-AM-I-SUPPOSED-TO-DO?!?-HOW-AM-I-GOING-TO-GET-HOME?!?!-I-REFUSE-TO-BE-FUCKING-STUCK-HERE-IN-THIS-NON-HOME-PLACE-WITH-THESE-GOD-AWFUL-PEOPLE-AND-THEN-WHAT-ARE-WE-SUPPOSED-TO-DO-IF-WE’RE-SNOWED-IN?!?-I-CAN’T-STAY-HERE-WITH-THEM-THERE-IS-NO-WAY-IN-HELL-I-CAN-DRIVE-DOWN-THAT-FUCKING-MOUNTAIN-TO-GET-TO-MY-HOME-HOLY-SHIT!-HOLY-SHIT!-HOLY-SHIT!-WE’RE-SO-FUCKED!-WHAT-AM-I-SUPPOSED-TO-DO?!?-FUCK!-FUCK!-FUCK!-FUCK!-FUCK!!!
There was a back-up plan. Our miserly supervisor had even called in to tell us that he would pay for a hotel room for the crew; but we didn’t really want to do that. Luckily, the other camera-operator working that night also lived in the same town as myself and Brandon. And the three of us decided it would be best to stay together in The Other Guy’s new(ish) four-wheel-drive vehicle, rather than in our separate cars (Brandon’s being a sedanish type car, and myself owning a 16-year-old jeep cherokee). And The Other Guy drove us back home. It was extremely slow going; and we slid several times; and the roads were totally whited out; and the snow was coming down in an awful way (that would have been very lovely had we been safely in our respective homes); and even the interstate was in an awful white-out-ish condition that was made scarier by the insistence of the tractor-trailer drivers to continue their work; but slowly and if not surely, than certainly with great trepidation, we made it back home. Or, rather, The Other Guy drove Brandon and I to my house as there was no fucking way on this Earth that any kind of vehicle would be making it up the giant steep hill where Brandon lives, and The Other Guy made it back to his apartment. Brandon slept here that night, and we poured the wine and watched a holiday comedy classic, and collapsed into bed (or in Brandon’s case, collapsed into an air mattress). And the next day, although the snow continued to fall and stay all over the fucking place, it kept off the roads and we were able to pick up our cars courtesy of my beloved, Ben.

Winterness Adventure #2:

The following Wednesday, I was making my way to work (on totally clear roads) when I decided to check up on my parent’s progress to Boston where they were working on moving Sister’s belongings into a storage facility and bring her and her enchanting dog home for the holidays. And my dear sweet old Papa dropped this bomb on me, “You ready for the ice storm?”

…WHAT?!?!

Like all good upper-middle-aged men, my father obsessively watches the weather. The Weather Channel is always the first channel he finds when with an unfamiliar television, he leaves it running on his TV at home, he even has an app for it on his droid.
Apparently, East TN, which has rarely seen the likes of any sort of ice storm [at least in my lifetime], was expecting to be sheeted in ice starting around 7pm till around sunrise–with the worst bits freezing around midnight.

Great. Just fucking great.

That Wednesday show? It runs from 5pm–midnight. Oh-ho! How wonderful!!
I spent the duration of that seven hour show chanting quietly to any force of nature or god who could possible hear me, “NoIce.NoIce.NoIce.NoIce.NoIce.NoIce.NoIce.NoIce.NoIce.NoIce.NoIce.NoIce.NoIce.NoIce.”

It didn’t work.

When we left the studio and walked outside, the entire parking lot was one super thick sheet of ice. Boss-man Brandon, Other-Regular-Camera-Guy Roger, and myself turned on our respective old vehicles, and skated around the parking lot and out onto the roads to test the conditions for the next 15 minutes.
I am, of course, panicking. I have to get home. I can’t be trapped up here. I have a ton of shit to do. Christmas shopping to finish, and packing to pretend to start, and gifts to finish making, and a house to clean, and TOMORROW IS MY OTHER DAY OFF AND I CAN’T BE STUCK UP HERE.
But Brandon offered to drive me home, and I figured if his dinky little car could make it the near 25 miles back to our house, than most certainly I would be able to do so in my Jeep. And Roger lived just as far away in the opposite more rural direction, and so we parted ways, wishing each other luck and safety. And Brandon gets a five minute head start just in case something really awful is ahead, he can call and tell me about it first.
And I call Ben and tell him to keep up a constant stream of conversation to keep me from losing my absolute head whilst I drive home. And of course, he doesn’t understand because at our house, there is no ice. Just a whole lot of slushiness. But not a single slippery patch. But he does it anyway. And what normally is an easy 30 minute commute, turned into a 90 minute unnerving drive home.
And just as I get to my home; my sweet old house; my warm safe immovable house; Brandon calls.

And he’s stuck. He slid down a large hill and his car is now stuck in a frozen parking lot and can we come and get him?
And dear sweet Ben, offers to let me come inside and he will take his car out to get Brandon. But I am the only one of the three of us with four-wheel drive, and I’ve already been driving for 90 minutes, so what’s another 15?
And so Ben walks out to my car at the end of our street, nearly falling on his ass in the process (Ice? What ice?) and ends up skating to me. And so we head off to get Brandon, and as we’re nearing him, I realize that from his location, hills either up or down, are our only option of getting home. So we call Brandon and tell him we’re going to turn around and wait for him to walk to us; and apparently he can already see the Jeep making it’s precarious way to him.
And I turn the car onto a small side-street. And we start sliding. And the car is moving laterally. And I look at Ben and yell, “WHAT DO I DO?!? WHAT DO I DO?!? WHAT DO I DO?!?” And he’s saying, “…I’ve never moved sideways in a car before…I don’t know…” All observant and not-very-present-in-this-god-awful-uncontrollable-moment. So I steer the sliding car into a large yard (or very small field, whichever you may prefer) and then sit there.
What the fuck.
I was home.
I MADE IT HOME!!!
And fucking Brandon needed rescuing. Damn it all to hell and back.
So we climb out of the car, and nearly fall down because the entire world is now iced over. What looks like snow? Ice. What looks like clean road? Ice. What looks like a slushly sidewalk? ALL FUCKING ICE. And I start berating myself in my head for not listening to that little voice that wanted to ask Ben to bring me my winter boots before he skated to the Jeep, because we were in a car and he would only make fun of me for panicking. And we make our way back to the road where Brandon has made it and is gleefully watching us. And the three of us make it ever so slowly back to the house, learning the very best way to walk through ALL THE ICE EVERYWHERE is to step in the long grassy bits right beside the road: the ice is only on the top layer and body weight crushes it down and it gives all of our poorly clad feet purchase. Of course, there were some scary bits, crossing the road was extremely treacherous, as was crossing the sidewalk and going up the few steps there too. But eventually we made it back. And had nice big drinks for everyone; and watched another holiday movie classic; and blew up the air mattress for the second time in three days; and fell oh-so-very-exhausted into bed.
And the next morning we woke up and there was still ice. Although from the time I woke up at 10am, till the time the boys got up 90 minutes later, cars were able to drive on the roads again, and the ice was turning into slush slowly as the temperature rose.
And eventually we bundled up and headed out to collect the cars.

Ben, Brandon, and myself (with Attila and spazzy Ollie) setting out on the quest for cars.

Even though there was still ice all over the sidewalks, and parts of some yards, the roads were clear and we set out. Oh, and we also had my mom’s super spazzy dog that needed walking (to rid him of his Crazy energy) and Attila too.

Ice still present but slowly melting away.

First we came up on my poor Jeep.

Still icy jeep

And although it was still coated in ice, it would not be a lot of trouble to get it home.

Not too bad, easily able to get out (with crazy Ollie)

So we left the semi-frozen Jeep and kept walking towards Brandon’s car. The hilly parking lot where he left his car was now occupied by three other vehicles, one of whom had been stopped by a telephone pole, and the lot was still very icy. But it seemed as if it was thawing out a bit. All the same, Ben, the dogs, and myself decided to stay safely on the flat sidewalk whilst Brandon went down to check out his car situation alone.

A small graphic strip of Brandon's car, and please excuse the poor quality as I was forced to use the digital zoom on our point-and-shoot camera.

Brandon’s car had slid to a stop so very close to my parent’s currently abandoned house and we decided the best idea was to break in and see what we could forage up as a small smackeral of something delicious.

A hearty snack of carrots, pretzel rods, peanut butter, ritz crackers with a delicious cheesy spread, and M&Ms.

After food the roads were deemed easy enough to travel, and we made a shopping list up so Ben and I could make German chicken noodle soup (I don’t know exactly how it’s different from other chicken noodle soups [perhaps more potatoes?], all I know is Mama got the recipe from Oma, who uses the same recipe her Mama made in Berlin before the war–it’s the only kind of chicken noodle soup I know.) And Brandon needed to buy any type of food for his bachelor lifestyle (he got hot pockets, milk, and cereal–good grief!!).
So we left the dogs and walked back to Brandon’s car, and slid slowly out of the parking lot and then safely back up the road and to the closest grocery. And Brandon very kindly took us (and the pups) back to our house while he went back up the doubly steep hill to his apartment.

No shopping was done. No gifts were made. Nothing truly productive was accomplished. But it was fun, and retrospectively makes for a good story.
And here’s hoping that the old adage, “Winter bites with its teeth, or lashes with its tail.” Is a true one for us this season.

-K

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Where we’ve been: A summer recap in images.

Although technically we’re not done with summer yet and we’ve still got some major events coming up in the next two weeks (a birthday party; a bachelor party; a wedding), I just cannot handle how absent I’ve been from my blog. So, to recap in a few images, this has been our summer. (I should also note that Ben’s swirling venture has picked up considerably, and a good portion of this summer as been spent with guitars as a whole and in pieces laying about/dangling down our entire house–fortunately we’ve moved all his music-ish/guitarish things into his new blog and I won’t have to reiterate it here.) We’ve been:

:painting lots of furniture…

now it's black and in the music room/library

:doing a lot of organizing, clearing out, cleaning up…

what you're missing are the five other stacks around/behind the coffee table

:dog-sitting…

If you can get Ollie to sit still, he still looks a bit crazy...

:having Ben’s birthday parties…

well into the night for us

Boston Cream Pie cupcakes over homemade vanilla ice cream

:taking walks at the lake…

and don't forget the Sonic slushies!!!

:going camping with my family…

Those are two outdoorsy kids if I ever saw some!

We make the best camping food ever! EVER!!!

...to be fair, I'm pretty sure princess here was chewing on a stick

Ollie gets all kinds of filthy when he camps

My research-loving, librarian-in-training sister figured out that this is actually an elm sawfly or Cimbex americanadoes. There's a link to it in the comments section. (Thanks, Jess!)

:taking baths…

cleanliness is very important here

:going to the beach with my family (including Sister! YAY!!!)…

PALE PEOPLE!! PALE PEOPLE!!! (it's much better in a doomish sort of voice)

basically this is all I did for seven days; it was blissful

perfection

–and whilst we were at the beach, my poor berated mother forced everyone into a black and white portrait session; and while I think the best family image is only adequate, I really love the more individual shots:

My parents may be the cutest couple I've ever met--they're celebrating their 30th anniversary in September this year.

To my mother's constant chagrin, we cannot help being goofy.

caught in a moment of sweetness

My sister, the most adorable woman on the earth.

The motivation behind the entire photoshoot. Please note the underlying sense of aching hunger within each person.

It’s been a great summer and it’s not quite over yet!
-K

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tusa is tusa amháin, go deo

Today we celebrate nine years together. Well, technically tomorrow we celebrate them, but today is the official day. Today I had to work, and he has a show to play tonight. Oh, the life of a rock star. But tomorrow we do nothing but stare at each other until we’re ready to spend a day apart.

Not really.

Really, we’re going to Asheville to wander around and visit some of our very favourite spots. And be all ooey-gooey in public and wish we had enough forethought to order our gift early enough to use. (Anniversaries mean community gifts here at the ole Petler Inn; and this year the gift was a brand new [14 megapixels with super-macro wide angle lens!!!!] point-and-shoot camera for us to carry with us everywhere and also so Kate doesn’t have to be thisclose to an aneurysm each time Ben touches her good Nikon.)

Nine years with a person is a really long time. And it’s even longer when you live in the second notch of The Bible Belt and are still unmarried and have the absolute gall to live together.

And yet it seems like barely anytime at all has passed. He’s still the most amazing person I’ve ever met. And I’m still just so happy I walked up to that bowl-cutted (it’s a word now, dammit) homeschooler shopping with his mother and bugged the ever-living crap out of him until he agreed that yes, I am the most wonderful and fascinating person on the planet.

our happy zombie family

-K

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In Which the Entire Internet Collectively Kicks My Ass

…or they would if the wrong sort reads this:

I am not a parent.

I have no desire to ever be a parent.

I do not want you to tell me how I’m going to change my mind.

I won’t.

I hate children. Not individual children. There are some real sweethearts out there. And I plan on spoiling like crazy any children Sister ends up having. But in general? They suck.

And more than children…well, at least tied in my low estimation are mommies. Not all parents of children; but you know who I’m talking about. MOMMIES. These women go out into the world with their screaming/crying/sticky/sickly/unmannered child(ren) and get mad at strangers who give dirty looks, silently judging The Mommy for not having any control over her young.
These are women who probably don’t have a “real” job. And I realize that yes “mommyhood” is rough stuff. It is by no means an easy feat to create and raise a human being.

But here’s the thing. Parenthood is a choice.

From the moment you get pregnant, there is a decision made to carry the child to term, to keep it and raise it yourself. You choose to become a parent.

My holding down a demeaning job is not quite the same choice. I HAVE TO have some form of a job in order to pay the rent and grocery bills.

And I am getting severely frustrated at the many facebook comments about how tough it is to go shopping with your baby on a Tuesday afternoon and then have to come home and do laundry and *gasp!* even make dinner for the family. So tough.
Ladies, I don’t sit down for six+ hours unless I’m lucky enough for the store to clear out enough so I can go pee. And when I get home, I cook dinner for myself and the Rock Star, and if needed, I’ll also do two loads of laundry as well as help him clear dinner away.
But you know, that’s life. It’s what happens. And if I wanted to hurt my pretty good lifestyle by bringing a child into this fucked-up world, then I sure as hell am going to prepare myself for it and do my best to not whine and bitch because I made that lifestyle choice.

Perhaps I’d start by buying a large-breed puppy. And if I can comfortably control and handle raising a Great Dane or a Rottweiler for three or four years THEN I would consider actually having a child. Because you can bet your ass a child is going to be 1000 times harder than a dog; and if a dog cannot be controlled, certainly a child will not be.

I am glad there are people out there who want children. I just wish there were a great many more of them that could be a parent in a responsible manner. This doesn’t mean mothers (or fathers) who need to buy milk and bread and snickers and have a teething infant; I’m talking about the ones who let the kid(s) go running and screaming up and down the aisles at stores and restaurants.
You want to be proud of your child(ren)? Then have control of your kid(s) and teach them how to behave in a decent manner.

It’s not that hard.

Morel of this story: Want a kid? See how you can handle a dog first. If you can’t, please don’t bring your hellion around me.

-K

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Unser kleiner Shrekhund

***(this is an old post from my old anonymous blog–but it’s a good introduction to ole Chubbers)***

Also known as our sweet little dog, aka Ol Wheezy, aka Chubbers, aka our pygmy Bear, aka house pig, aka Little Bitch, aka Unser Kleiner Shrekhund, otherwise known as Attila.

Attila came into my life by pure happenstance, also by a mother who could not knowingly leave a tiny four-week old 1/2 chihuahua 1/2 poodle mix with a family that would most certainly destroy it within two months (and if they didn’t, the busy highway feet from their front stoop most surely would have).

I came home one day (not too long after moving back from new york) to find my mother sitting on a chair, saying, “well, I’ve either done a very wonderful thing or a really terrible thing…either way, you’ve got a dog now b/c [my father] will kill me if I bring a new dog into this house.”

The next day she and I went to pick up this adorable little puppy dog. This tiny black bundle of fur fit snuggly into the palm of my hand (literally) and I lost my heart to him. All sorts of motherly-type instincts kicked in while caring for this too-small to be believed puppy. Of course, with good comes bad, and I spent several months not going too far from home and countless times cleaning up my puppy’s waste, and all the little things he’d chew on, and listening for him to see if he was either A: using the bathroom somewhere in the house or B: chewing up something he shouldn’t be. (Needless to say, all the bad re-confirmed my decision to [hopefully] remain childless.)

Attila remained nameless for a few weeks while I tried to come up with something clever that suited his personality. One night I took him to a bonfire-gathering my friends were having to celebrate their graduation/going away from our tiny close-minded town and one of them picked him up after hearing me tell about how this five pound dog is somehow managing to knock over his gate in the hallway and said, “well, you’re just like Attila-the-Hun is all!” And preceded to inform me that the all-conquering Hun was a fairly small-sized man. (I want to say around 4’5” but it could be 5’2”….I don’t remember anymore) and the name stuck to my sweet and yet very destructive puppy-dog.

Attila is a wonderful little doggy. He’s really not all the bright, but he’s so sweet, it makes up for it. The dog has no concept of stranger, it’s simply “FRIEND!!!” or “POTENTIAL FRIEND!!!” he even likes most other dogs too, but if there’s too many of them he’ll go far away from the rough play and just watch them (to be fair, most of my friend’s dogs are larger-sized breeds) and occasionally run into the fray to chase and be chased and then run back to his little spot and continue watching.

He’s traveled from my parent’s house to the shitty apartment complex I lived in while I finished college, back to my parent’s house, and now to mine and Ben’s current rental house. He such a great little dog that wants nothing more than to have his belly rubbed all day long. His favourite words are, “want a bellyrub?” (and he’ll fall onto his back and spread his legs, the little whore) and “alright, let’s get a treat!” (to which, he’ll make a beeline for the kitchen and sit in front of the shelf where he knows his treats are kept).

I could write so much on my little Attila, how his fur grows out until he’s just this black cottonball that runs around my house, or how he loves to “talk” to us in the morning, or how whenever he’s playing “rope” he’ll growl as he pulls. . . . .so much about mein klein Shrekhund, but I must quit here for now.
-K

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