Ok, so, where was I? Oh yeah... I had gone on the wagon. That all went down the drain two Fridays ago, when I had my farewell party and got absolutely hammered. Say it with me now, kids: hhhhaaaaaaaammerrrrrrred. Pathetic and giggly and loud and then dragged to karaoke at my own insistence. (You figure that one out.) The parts I remember were fun, though the ensuing hangover and knuckle-biting memory re-runs were painful, at best. I didn't pay for a drop, and I didn't vomit, so it was a pretty good night, as far as embarassingly drunken nights go.
All of my lovely parting gifts (save one) have been used already: I picked up some books at Chapters with the gift card my team gave me, and the Lush bath bomb another co-worker gave me was employed the moment I entered my flat that night. The teapot and flowering tea are being saved for a perfect day, preferably one spent quietly alone in the flat. In retrospect, I should have saved the bath bomb and made an evening of it, since I've renovated the bath area, but drunken whims being what they are, and the relaxation provided were reason enough. I'm just pleased there's a brand of bubble bath I'm not allergic to, so there's no need to overdo it just yet.
The bath are took a whole afternoon and evening to complete, and if I thought that clawfoot tub was enviable before, everyone can just go get themselves some fava beans and a nice chianti now, because they'll be eating their hearts out. The labyrinthine drainage pipes have been replaced with a sensible configuration, the tub re-positioned, the floor scrubbed, the frame repaired and cleaned, shelving rigged up, and the tub's enamel scoured. I've added plants and candles, and am now on a near-hourly poop watch. Poop watch? Yes: one of the kitties here, who shall remain nameless, has a hang-up about pooping in the litter box (i.e., she won't use the damned thing if the litter's more than a day old), and had been leaving "brown gold" in the tub regularly. I never quite caught her in the act, but the day after the renovation was complete, I found a new turd and a clump of long, white fur in the tub. If she weren't so damned cute and pathetic, I'd make a fluffy handbag out of her, but I sucked up my ire, re-washed the basin, and sprayed down the wooden frame with orange oil in an effort to discourage repeat offenses. Now, if only I could find a way to keep her from peeing in my sewing room every few days....
Initially, I had thought the poop was the source of the foul stench which would occasionally emit from the tub (while it was out of use). Once I moved the decorative bricks and got a good look at the drainage set-up, it became apparent that it was more than kitty-doo-doo causing the vomitrocious odour. When plumbing time came around, and I had to saw off the old PVC pipes, the entire flat (all 3000sq/ft) became a Biohazard Zone. Steve, who was sitting on the other side of the flat started coughing, came over to investigate, and nearly passed out. I couldn't warn him fast enough, since I was busy choking back my own nausea.
Home plumbing: not for the weak of stomach.
Once we recovered from the combination of pipe-stench and ABS glue dizziness, we ordered in some bad sushi and I treated my roomie to a Nick Cave singalong while potting plants. Roomie seemed to deal with it fairly well, though I suspect the letters he was writing to his friends may have contained the words "warbling cacaphony" and "send help."
The rest of my time has been spent working with my friend Jason on his painting projects. He's already begin a portrait of yours truly, which I couldn't be more chuffed about, since I hardly have any photos of myself worth showing off. This baby actually looks like the person I see in the mirror every day, which astounds me. I urge you to look at his site, and more importantly, to buy one of his paintings, should you be inclined to spend wads of cash on original artwork. The dude needs to eat, and more importantly, he needs to become rich enough to pay me (winking smiley face, lol, haha, etc). I doubt anyone who reads this journal has the kind of cash required, but I thought I'd throw it out there, regardless.
While that collaboration is working out nicely, the fashion show I'm supposed to be participating in seems snaggy. I will spend most of tomorrow contacting the people involved and attempting to get our collective shit together. I'd like to go off on a tangent about poor communication, but it's not the place, nor have I the time. I should really be in bed.
Speaking of having no time, whatever happend to my rant about women's rights, or my crazy letter of intent which miraculously garnered an acceptance to Creative Writing? Ugh. Give me a few more days. I'm expecting a new(used) laptop this week, and I'm trying to get my shit in order on this computer so as to facilitate the transfer. And of course, I've procrastinated about that, so add a few more days to that there grace period.
I apologize if this entry seems boring; writing about happy (or simply non-aggravating) things isn't my forté. I've never been the "Dear Diary" type, and I am definitely too disorganized to figure out how to entertain you with good news on-the-spot. I'll put that on the To Do list.
And since I didn't have anything particularly nasty or awful to say about anyone or anything:
(That's what I get for having Woody over on a foggy night.)
listening:
reading:
ingesting:
(see entries before 20.11.05)
previously on Smothered Hope:
unreal - 20.05.08
in which our narrator kinda just babbles on a bit - 15.05.08
drank several margaritas last night. they were great. - 04.05.08
spacey - 29.04.08
i will most definitely regret posting this in public - 28.04.08