Our tax guy called today with the incredibly shitty news that we owe close to $3700. And here I was hoping for a refund in the neighborhood of $3000. Apparently, claiming 0 and being married is not the way to go. Consider this a cautionary tale.
Shit shit shit.
Oh, it’s been far too long since the last post. Christ, over two months. Let’s see if I can quickly recap recent events without boring myself, and anyone who reads this, to tears.
We moved into the new house. We hired someone to paint almost the entire interior. He’s late 30s, married with kids, and from Germany. I ask the hubby, do you think we can get a brethren discount when he hears our last name? Alas, we did not. The name of this guy’s business is…brace yourself: The Lord’s Colors. Did I not mention that a lot of people in middle Tennessee are religious fanatics? Gag, I know. The business name kept me from wanting to hire him at first. Turns out I should have gone with my gut. He did an 80% job, but I keep finding places either he didn’t paint (tight corners), he painted half-assed (the downstairs bathroom comes to mind), or that the spackling job was sorely lacking (again, the downstairs bathroom comes to mind). Whatever, that fucker is paid and out of here.
We spent $400 on exterior doorknobs and locks. No shit.
We spent $500 on curtains, most of which are hung. The rest are washed and waiting. Oh, and I didn’t iron a single one of them. I was going for the “Hamptons relaxed weekend” look, but it actually just showcases my domestic laziness.
A little over a week ago, we hosted our first out-of-town visitors for 3 nights. I have since instituted a strict 2-nights only policy for all guests. Nothing happened, I just can’t play nice for that long with people who don’t have to tolerate me.
Just over two weeks ago, we ordered our grown-up couch. The delivery window was 6-8 weeks later. Argh, but whatever. That bastard arrived today, 5 and a half weeks early and seemingly in good condition. Too bad this stuns me to no end.
Last week, I fired one of our babysitters. She was hired to come in 2 mornings per week from 9 a.m. until noon. In all actuality, she probably came 4 times in 6 weeks. It was always something with this chick: migraine, flu, out of town, rash from medication (the last excuse). Finally, both the hubby and I had enough, and I called to let her go. Since I am nothing if not a chickenshit when it comes to confrontation, I was sooooooooooooooo glad when her voicemail kicked in. Guess she got the message. HAR HAR
Cut the toddler’s bangs again. It pains me to have so much involvement in her mullet. At least the sides are growing out some. Once they meet up with the length in the back, she’s home free.
Watched the Robert Plant/Allison Krauss episode of Crossroads on CMT. God, what a snoozefest. Thank god for TV. Now I can say I’ve seen them perform and didn’t pay a dime. The best part is, I could get up whenever I wanted and say out loud (repeatedly) how goddamned boring their performance was. How can you make When the Levee Breaks a cure for insomnia? Let Allison Krauss sing it while Plant stands there mentally tallying his take on their upcoming tour.
Drinks Night returns with a vengeance! The hubby’s lack of enthusiasm was directly attributed to his choice of cocktail these last several months. Turns out he was missing his old favorite, super-dirty gin martinis with blue cheese olives. Things being what they are, we had to improvise a bit. The only blue cheese olives I could find were packed in oil, so he has to sop up as much of that as he can with a paper towel before dropping them into the gin. I can put a few back, but straight gin with 3 greasy olives and some juice? Too stout for me, but what do I care? The hubby likes it, and we’re having a ball hanging out on the deck with our drinks, smokes, and random awesome conversation. Woo hoo!
As of this writing, I’m still contracting, but only for another month. Let’s hope I am extended again. There is so much home improvement ahead, not to mention minivan buying to do. Argh.
Sort of back to Robert Plant. Recently, a friend sent an e-mail to several folks asking how much each of us would pay for a ticket should Led Zeppelin tour again. I didn’t respond for a couple of reasons: everyone else on the list is a guy, and when I do reply to all, no one responds, and secondly, I wouldn’t go if the tickets were free. Why? Because it’s not Led Zeppelin. John Bonham is dead, and even if his kid is sitting behind the kit, it’s not him. Seeing a band well after their heyday is just lame, if you ask me. To see Led Zeppelin, you should have gone in the 70s. Period. Bruce Springsteen? Not after Born in the U.S.A. Madonna? Never, she’s a terrible live performer. I have most of her albums, by the way. And like them. When I saw REM on the Monster tour, I knew I had blown it. It was already too big, too filled with ego, too filled with money. Or something. Did I go during the Green tour before they really blew up? Noooooooooooooo, I wasn’t into them yet. I heard that Van Halen is touring with Roth fronting. What a bunch of douchebags. We know it’s all about the money. We know that David Lee Roth is a joke and has been for, what, 15+ years now? The hubby and I were talking about this earlier today, and I said, you know, they should have a reality show with all of the uber-controlling frontmen of bands forced to be in a band with each other: Eddie Van Halen, Lars Ulrich and James Hetfield, Axl Rose. Any other suggestions are welcome. For the alternative crew, Michael Stipe, Bono, J Mascis, and maybe Frank Black. Hell, Mascis and Frank wouldn’t even have to show up. Stipe and Bono would kill each other. One can dream.
I joined Weight Watchers. Again. The success thus far has been fair to middling, but at least I’m still in the Loss column. Also, I am training for a 5k, but haven’t signed up yet. Typing that statement is giving me accountability, so make me stick with it! Christ, I can run a 5k with a little prep. Can’t I???
Oh, enough already. My head is too full, my fingers are swelling, and you, dear reader, are to be commended for sticking it out to the bitter end.
