1. Finish that damn closet. Yep, it’s finished! And it actually looks awesome. Who knew that painting the inside of a closet, replacing the wire shelf with a real shelf, and adding some hooks and organization could be so much work? But it was totally worth it because I’m convinced this is the type of thing that’s eventually going to sell this place.
Sound crazy?
Think about it. You can walk into a place you’re potentially interested in buying and it might appear clean, but then you open a closet and see where the mess went. Subconsciously, this makes you wonder what else the homeowners might be hiding.
Well I’ve got news for you, judgy wudgy – we ain’t hiding nothin’ but some dog leashes and a Dyson. No skeletons in this closet, thankyouverymuch.
The other closets in the house are another story.
2. Sell a bunch of the “big” items taking up space in the garage and office so they can both get cleaned out. Well, I sold almost everything I listed: 2 desks, kitchen range with hood, and a dining table with 4 chairs. The only thing I didn’t get any bites on was an office chair, so I’ll wait a bit and try again. I have a few other things I want to try selling, so I consider this a successful start.
Now. Here’s the kicker.
I don’t have pictures of the garage and office for you tonight. It’s getting too dark to get a decent picture of the closet, and I’m covered in primer and paint, and I still need to take the mutts on a walk and give them baths, and I’m so hungry and I need a beer.
So those things need to get taken care of. Not necessarily in that order.
But I will update this post tomorrow with photos.
Pinky swear.
And I never go back on a pinky swear.
Notice that I picked the multiracial pinky swear photo from Esquire.com to emphasize the fact that I’m not racist.
Or maybe it was just one of the first photos to show up.
My friend Leslie was kind enough this morning to point out that I neglected to fulfill a promise I made last week about keeping you posted on my weekly goals so I can finally get a bunch of projects done around this wreck of a house.
I was supposed to tell you yesterday (Monday), but instead, I was actually working on fulfilling said goal.
But Leslie made me realize – If I don’t disclose the goals on here (or to anyone, for that matter), I’ll never get them done.
Because no one would give me a hard time about it.
And that’s what friends (and blog readers, who are practically friends because there isn’t much on here I don’t disclose about myself) are for – to give you shit when you start slacking.
Because they care.
I actually have 2 goals for this week:
1. Finish that damn closet so our coats can get off the guest bed and back into the closet where they belong. Haven’t you heard? It’s springtime, baby!
2. Sell a bunch of the “big” items taking up space in the garage and office so they can both get cleaned out. That’s what I was working on yesterday – putting our old dining table, range, 2 office desks, and an office chair on Craigslist in the hope of selling them sometime this week.
Because this is what the garage looks like right now:
Nope, it ain’t pretty.
So far I’ve learned 2 things:
1. I priced the dining table and range too low. I’ve gotten about a billion responses, and now I’m kicking myself for letting people convince me I couldn’t get very much for them.
2. Craigslist folk are unreliable. The lady who was supposed to buy the range told me she’d be here before 10:00. It’s now after 11:00, and she still hasn’t shown. She’s probably going to be pissed when I call the next guy in line, but sorry lady! You snooze, you lose. This thing has got to go.
I should’ve known, though. Erin warned us once about the perils of Craigslist:
So, yeah. It’s not going that great so far.
On a completely unrelated note, have you ever seen the movie Spanglish with Adam Sandler?
It’s one of those movies that wasn’t originally my cup of tea, but for whatever reason I watched it again, and then again, and then again because there’s just something about it that’s so honest about human nature and our flaws and our idiosyncrasies that it just feels raw and real and… I don’t know… imperfect. But that’s okay, because that’s the point.
Anyway.
There’s this scene where Adam Sandler’s life is just crap. He’s an amazing chef with a beautiful house and family, but it doesn’t matter because things are falling apart in his marriage, the kids are suffering from huge self-esteem issues inflicted by their crazy mother who can’t recognize the reasons she’s so unhappy, his mother-in-law lives with them and happens to be a raging alcoholic, and their entire family is having a negative impact on the “pure” and holistic upbringing their nanny, who is a beautiful, single, illegal immigrant from Mexico, is trying to impart on her own impressionable young daughter.
And all of these things are weighing on him. They tear him down every day.
But in this scene he’s about to have a moment – a moment of pure bliss. He’s fixing himself this amazing sandwich. We’re talkin’ the mother of all BLT’s, with crispy bacon, fresh butterhead lettuce and ripe tomato slices, mayo (of course), and thick wheat bread with some Monterey jack cheese that’s been broiled to perfection, all topped off with a glorious fried egg whose yolk doesn’t break until he slices into the sandwich’s divine center belly, the golden fluids bleeding out onto the plate for a perfect dipping opportunity.
Then – then – he pours himself some kind of gourmet-looking dark beer into a tall pilsner glass (at which point I completely jizz in my pants) and the entire scene is done in silence with just the sounds of the egg being fried, the crack and fizz of the beer as it’s poured into the glass, the grate of the knife on the plate.
Perfection.
I will never forget that scene. It’s like this moment he so desperately needs – just himself, the paper, the perfect sandwich, and a beer.
Of course, it all gets ruined for him before he can take the first mind-blowing bite, but that’s beside the point.
The point is that sometimes you don’t have to get too fancy to have a completely satisfying meal. Sometimes a sandwich – a sandwich that you take a little care and time to prepare correctly – can be the perfect ending to an otherwise less-than-perfect day.
And I want to thank my sister, who reminded me of that last night when she encouraged me to make this:
Known henceforth as the “Orgasm Panini,” which, if executed correctly, could cause a paninigasm (thanks Jeff, for the term).
For a list of ingredients I used, check out the description of this photo on the Domestiphobia Facebook page.
Yep. I’m sneaky like that.
***UPDATED***
Here are is the cast of characters for the Orgasm Panini (I figure it’s only fair if you stumbled across this later to not make you search for the ingredients) from bottom to top:
Some type of thickly sliced bread, mayo with lemon juice and basil, Cajun turkey from the deli, fresh tomato, freshly sliced or grated Mozzarella, cooked bacon, artichoke hearts, fresh baby spinach. Toast in panini press and enjoy.
Occasionally, whilst surfing the Interwebs for job opportunities, I’ll find myself naïvely drifting into the murky, frothy, danger-filled waters of Craigslist.
Might as well just take a quick peek-a-roo to see if there’s any worthwhile prospects, I think to myself. What’s the harm?
And on these rare occasions I happen to forget why I ever stopped visiting in the first place, Craigslist is always more than happy to refresh my memory.
What the internet would look like if it were an old-timey map.
Because once I’ve started perusing Craigslist, I’m quickly reminded that it is a teaming cesspool of internet goblins, illegitimate business ventures, sad personal ads, kinky-weird (and not kinky-fun) fetishes and a truly preposterous number of letters to strangers who’ve crapped on someone’s personal property.
Here’s the kind of thing you usually find…
Typical Craigslist Post #1:
Dear Person Who Took a Crap on the Hood of My Car While I Was Stopped at a Red Light on 5th and Main,
Why did you do that? Seriously, why??? I mean, honestly, who DOES that?!?
In conclusion, I did not appreciate it and think you are a jerkface.
Sincerely Hatefully,
Guy in the Toyota Celica (a.k.a., the Cleveland Steamer edition)
Typical Craigslist Post #2:
Dear Girl with Brown Hair Wearing Some Sort of Patterned Shirt in Line at Starbucks in the Greater Baltimore-Washington Metropolitan Area,
I was standing in line behind you and you glanced meaningfully back at me as if to say “I recognize a kindred spirit in you.” Or it might’ve just been because I stepped on the back of your shoe. Either way, I felt a connection. Let’s get married, ok?
I’ll Die Without You,
Guy with the Ironic Glasses and Emo Haircut
Typical Craisglist Post #3:
****LQQK HERE!!!! BUY MY USED CRAP FOR WICKED EXPENSIVE!!!!1 SUPER SWEET DEAL!!! $$$$**8**
I’M SELLING MY **MINT** CONDITION, SLIGHTLY USED TOOTHBRUSH FOR ONLY $199!!!
STILL HAS ALL IT’S ORIGINAL BRISSLES! HANDEL BROKE OFF BUT OTHERWISE IN ***A1 PERFECT CONDITION***!!
LIKE NEW!!!! ONLY BEEN USED FOR A YEAR!!
SERIOUS INQIRIES ONLY!! IF U ASK A QUESTION AND DON’T END UP BUYING IT, ILL COME TO YOUR HOUSE AND STAB U IN UR SLEEP!!!!!!!
CALL ME (FRIBBLEJAB HUMDINGER) BETWEEN 3 AM AND 5 AM MONDAY OR THURSDAY!!!
Typical Craigslist Post #4:
W/M/40 looking for a partner to engage in some sensuous bicyexuality…
Are you a well-maintained 10-speed Schwinn?? If so, I’d like to have sexual relations with you. Meet me at the dumpster behind the elementary school, lover. I’ll be the one in the vinyl bodysuit and clown mask.
And the job board is just as soul-stabbingly sad. For instance, here are the recent gems I came across while searching for jobs today…
(**Note: Sorry about all the random black bars but I decided to do the “ethical thang” and block out any information I thought would likely land me in civil court. So sue me. Or, wait–don’t.**)
Sneaky-sneaky! This ad slipped in the “adult chat” part so deftly, so subtly, that I almost believed that maybe this wasn’t some sleazy operation being conducted out of this guy’s mom’s basement. (Ha! Kidding. I knew all along.)
Please note in the description that “hard-working” is a must. What isn’t required is a sexy phone voice or even the ability to speak English, mind you. Because we here at Bob’s Basement Sexy-Time Phone Factory don’t tolerate any slacker-ass phone sex operators lazing around on their couches, surfing the Web, eating bonbons and living the high life on our generous $10 compensation package.
Nay, we expect you to knock out at least three sets of 25 squat-thrusts and 50 leg lifts during each and every phone call. We’re all about discipline and dedication and, inexplicably, intense physical conditioning here.
The Upside: (1) You and your significant other would have a common interest to bond over. (2) No taxes are deducted from your paycheck. Super-duper hooray!
The Downside: (1) Everybody on the internet gets to watch you bicker over which of you was supposed to pick up paper towels on your way home. (2) While naked. (3) Seriously, paperwork?
It’s always nice to get the verbal abuse thing out in the open early because I hate when jobs wait until after I’m hired to condescend and mock my abilities to perform to their unreasonably high expectations.
What I gather from this ad is that, essentially, this position would require you to run this man’s news business for him while he stands behind you, screaming and heckling you with vaguely misogynistic schoolyard taunts.
For some reason, I get the impression that this guy is into some extreme shit. I imagine he wrote this job description at 3 a.m. in between snorting a variety of narcotics and running to the bathroom mirror to slap himself and yell “BE A WINNER, DAMMIT!” while “The Final Countdown” blared on repeat in the background. When he finished, he high-fived everything in his apartment and then set his coffee table on fire.
