Conventional Wisdom

So I was outside cleaning my window fans, finally having reached a point of frustration with them such that I no longer cared about their electrical well-being. They don't unscrew so there was no way to get at the blades manually and the thick layers of Los Angeles air dirt rendered vacuuming, air cans and any other cleaning options useless.

It seemed a good spray down was the only option before me. But what of the fans' moving motor parts? There was a time when I cared. It was past.

I decided the first step was to spray the grates and blades down with a good dousing of nature's grease cutter, vinegar. Then as if by magic, the dirt immediately loosed. It was beautiful. I nearly cried. Next up, I strapped the hose sprayer adapter onto the water source, set it to stun (Jet) and sprayed away like a maniac inflicting a shower of gunfire on her enemy. The whole thing was over in flash. I left the lifeless fans in the sun to cook and dry out.

Later, when I went to check on them, I noted something that prompted this tome. I'd left the vinegar spray bottle outside and now there was a FLY ON IT. I guess you can get a few flies with vinegar. Which explains how that hateful Elizabeth Hasselbeck (Or Crappelbeck, I like to call her) has any family or friends.

Dogs: NOT That Different Than Me

We both hate it when the Jehovah's Witnesses come to the door peddling their message of hope.

Reminiscing

You know what I miss? Saltine crackers.

Of course, they're still around, but I just don't eat them much anymore. There was a period of my life when I would often mix up a can of tuna fish with some mayo and relish and crack open a sheath of saltine crackers.

You can do the math from there. It was tasty.

That is all. You can thank me later for sharing this delightful anecdote, Internet.

The Ultimate Material

"So... what are we going to do about this whole having-kids-during-end-times-global-warming thing?"

"Um, duct tape?"

Bad Idea

Deciding enough time has passed since the last time you tried to do an at-home Brazilian wax and surely they must have improved the quality of do-it-yourself products.

Nope. They haven't.

Dare I Say?

I think the more senior gentlemen who live on my street have really warmed up to me since I started staying home and doing traditional lady things like wearing an apron, shaking out rugs & blankets and gardening.

When I brush the flour off my hands mid-pie-crust-rolling and run out to meet the mailman in my apron, it's like I'm bringing a comforting piece of 1955 back to the neighborhood.

And now the neighbors say "hi" and wave from across the street. Ah, misogyny.

Mean Vagrant

This whole layoff-induced work-at-home thing has really surprised me in that it's been completely difficult and at times, depressing. I did not expect that. I thought it would be a constant party (a productive one, but one all the same); I expected more fun lunches and sunshine* and Bloody Marys and less staring at the wall and L&O.

When I tell people that working for myself has been hard, most immediately jump to "Yeah, it's hard to motivate yourself and manage your own time." But that stuff is pretty easy for me - most of the time - because I used to be a total slack ass. Marta circa 2000 could piss away entire days watching television and eating last night's pizza like nobody's business.

So when we decided that I would write instead of finding another cubicle to park my ass in, I made some serious decisions about time management and I've largely stuck to them. I make lists. I meet goals. Plus unlike 2000 Marta I like to do more stuff than watch TV. Like cook. And read. And stuff. So that's motivating.

So, you might ask, "What is hard about working at home?

For me, it's feeling useless no matter what I actually accomplish. Because there's not really anyone there to watch or notice besides Brian and let's face it: he's biased. I guess I'm like that stupid celebrity quote about life not worth living unless people are watching or whatever. Without a boss or coworkers, it's like what I do doesn't exist. And I know that I'm ramping up to a place where I'll do this work and have a work structure, but for now, I'm going a tiny bit nuts.

Sometimes this manifests itself in weepiness, which I hate. Today it's just making me feel dark and snarky. I feel like taking an optimistic second grader down a notch. Saying something really morale busting, like "Oh sure, it's all sunny now, kid. But just wait until life kicks your ass." And then I'd swill from some brown-bagged beverage.

I guess what I'm saying is: I feel like being a mean vagrant. Eh. I still think it's better than weeping.

*Seriously. "May Gray?" That's what all the weather people are saying now. Um, I've lived in LA for 3 and a half years and this is the first I've heard of this. So now, Weatherpeople, you're telling me I have to endure "May Gray" AND "June Gloom?" What's next, you motherfuckers? "July-Poke-Me-in-the-Eye?" Sunny southern California, my ass.