I’m totally Ms. Handy Gal with building stuff, but I don’t do plumbing because it’s oogy with nasty slimy sludgy stuff no matter what you’re working on and there’s spiders and scorpions and other critters lurking just to bite you *bite you * bite you. The only thing plumbing related I do is irrigation. If anybody has a field they need to set up for irrigation, I can do it, but I won’t. I’ve dug too many ditches to not pay somebody else to do it for me. I also won’t string fence, or kill chickens.
Electrical stuff I keep away from. Well, that’s a lie, sorta. I can rewire a lamp but the stuff in the walls is safe from my interference, because I’m afraid of it and evidently should be. Y’know how my lamp in the bedroom died and I was going to re-wire it? Well, I did rewire it and it was tough because it was made by evil leprechauns, but I re-wired that puppy, yay! Only not yay because it wouldn’t work, I pulled the chains and nothing, clicky click ffffttt. While checking my work I managed to forget to unplug it not just once, but three times. Still no light but I sure knew juice was getting to the bulbity thingies, that’s for sure. So fine, just fine! I’ll take that lamp to work and have the shop teachers fix it’s little red wagon. Only I didn’t because it just sat on the counter and mocked me, ‘nya nya can’t even rewire a laaa-amp.’ So I ripped it’s little skull off and poked at it’s guts and happened to grab a different bulb to test the lamp this time. It was the brand new, no noise when I shook them bulbs the whole stinking time! The old wiring was bad, so at least I hadn’t re-wired a lamp that didn’t need it. Stupid electrical stuffs.
Speaking of showers and playing on words (I’m lookin’ at you Shibby), last night it rained here. More like determined sprinkles really, but the thunder and lightening was amazing! Kabooms all over the place, rumbling, crackling, and the lightning was coming down (and side to side for a while) so often it was like a mega-watt strobe light. When the first storm came through, the thunder actually made the building shake and the windows rattle, it was weird to feel the floor sort of vibrate from thunder. Today it’s only 94 degrees, unfortunately the humidity is like a bajillion percent.
Are you allowed to plant stuff around those pipes Puggy? Maybe a lattice sort of box with a door of course, and vines could grow on it. Or paint them. What could you paint them to look like, I wonder?
Shower inventory indicates I have one bar of verbena soap, one bottle of eucalyptus and cardamon liquid soap, one shampoo (diappointingly smelly since they stopped making my fav non-smelly), one conditioner (the last of the non-smelly), the end. I save my free samples for travel. It’s the accessories I go nuts with. One buff puff, one wash cloth, one scrubby wash cloth, and one net poof. It seems I don’t just scrub my skin, I’m trying to scrub it completely off.
Nobody seriously calls a person’s ashes cremains, do they? I mean, I may be a bit biased here, but how is cremains a better word than ashes?
ems, when I helped my dad clean out his classroom, he had stuff in there from the fifties. I wish I’d kept the ‘How to Protect your Students from the Communists’ pamphlets and workbooks. His junk was nothing compared to my classroom. I threw out an entire dumpster of crap, some of it was so old I didn’t even know what it was, much less what kind of art you’d make with it.
This Old House hasn’t been as good since Bob Villa left. I don’t know whether Yacht Boy or this new Dancing Monkey Boy is more annoying. Yacht Boy was irritatingly aloof seeming, but Dancing Monkey Boy is irritating because he’s an idjit. I say let Tommy or Roger drop kick the host into some construction rubble and then have them do the show themselves.
Swampy, your neighborhood sounds very well-lit, what with all the lamp posts everywhere.