By the way, no one congratulated me on my sewing projects! A pillow and a drawstring bag! Come on people, who else can I turn to for affirmation? Hel-LO?
I name my cars also , welby. I had a Fifth Avenue that I named the Queen Mary cause it was so big it needed tug boats to park it. After that came a Buick named Fergie cause it was a real princess of a car working on it’s second lifetime. Now my Jeep Grand Cherokee is named Willy. I think you should call your Impala “Silver” like the lone ranger’s horse.
I don’t name my appliances but when we put in the the granite countertops, Mr. Anachi insisted…INSISTED…that all the small appliances be black, stainless, or both…thereby banning a perfectly working (however white) coffee grinder from the top of the counter. :smack:
I have a nice little loveseat sofa bed that’s a Lazy Boy. It’s got the most comfortable mattress I’ve ever tried on a sofa bed. It’s in my spare room.
Narnia was good. At the risk of tremendous ridicule, I must state I would really like to have a talking pet beaver.
Hi, gene. What’s new on the other side of the world?
Tupug
Oh, dear Og, you knew this was coming
<snerk>
Also, I only named my first car, my ticket to freedom and really wild things. I just called it Baby but it was my baby and oh-so-precious.
I miss that car. 
I think I better leave this one to more experienced MMPers.
You Rock! You’re a sewing God!
Hello, mind if I play?
I just wanted to mention to anyrose that I’m in a SA chorus, too. This is mine. It’s just a little chorus, but we have fun. I sing baritone, and we, too, are starting to get ready for our regional competition, which is in April.
In another stunning coincidence, my family once had a Volvo decorated with flowers, too. Ours were more like this, though.
Of course! Of course! I’m just surprised that one of the boys didn’t beat you to it. 
In a stunning coincidence, I also got knives this weekend! I paid for mine, though. They were on sale. I got a long chef’s knife and a santoku knife, which is one I’ve wanted for a while. I promptly christened the santoku by cutting myself. Ouchie! And even though the cut was done last night, I still managed to get a little spot of blood on my tan turtleneck. But it’s alright; I saw the problem before I left for work and was able to switch to my off-white turtleneck. Fashion crisis averted!
I hate meetings. I will have three by 11 am today. Why me?
Susan
Thanks, I feel affirmed!
Tupug, I am the Poster With No Name (Anaamika). I’m as quick on the draw as the Man With No Name.
**KeithT **got a KitchenAid mixer when he returned his Cuisinart since we both got Cuisinarts for Christmas. (And mine’s bigger <snerk> so his got returned.) He’s baking up a storm with it. Made incredible (according to him… I’m not there to judge) pizza dough over the weekend and whole wheat bread last night. We’re both excited about our new gadgets. My Cuisinart got to make pesto over the weekend. BOY is that a LOT simpler than making pesto in the blender!
That’s it for kitchen gagetry stories from me. And no, we haven’t named either gadget. My car, though, is named Civi 'cause it’s a Civic, and it needed a cute name 'cause it’s a cute car.
Okay, so it’s not really a saga, just a long, semi-boring story. But I like giving things fancy names. I also name my cars (my first car was Dunkin {after the donut shop, natch}, and eventually came to be known as Dunkin MacHyundai of the Clan MacHyundai because nothing could ever kill that car–my current car is named Kal because I’m a ridiculously obsessed Superman fan), and have named appliances in the past, so I’m right there with you, Lissla. My first apartment contained a microwave named Chernobyl.
Oh, I’m telling a story, aren’t I? Okay, let’s get back to that …
Thursday of last week, I woke up (because that’s a good way to start the day) and went to see my insurance agent about my homeowner’s policy. I arrived fifteen minutes early, spent ten minutes signing papers, then got lost on the way home, like I always do. Then I went out to the walkthrough, which was lovely, and met the people who were moving out of the Tower. They were very, very nice, and showed me where they hid the spare key in the common area because locking oneself out sucks. They left me the phone books and a little list of delivery places and were just good people in general. I liked 'em. Then they left, and I wandered around the house trying not to squeal like a little kid in front of the real estate agents. Then I headed out to the closing. Both my lawyer and my real estate agent were inherited from my parents, and since my Dad paid outright for the condo (yes, I know, smack me around if you must), there was no mortgage and I was all but incidental at the closing. I signed my name a few times and became the proud owner of a bell tower. Then I went back to the condo and danced around until my future-roommate got off work and came over to dance with me.
Friday began badly. The movers were expected at 8, meaning I wanted the cats drugged and locked in the closet by 7:30. Because of the vomit incident when I tested the Kitty Tranqs, I decided to take their food away before I went to bed on Thursday, which prompted a midnight complaint from Khan–in fact, the little bastard woke me up every half hour until 6 a.m., at which time I gave up and got out of bed because I was too excited to sleep anymore. I drugged the boys and watched them slow down incrementally as I wandered about the house finishing up little bits of packing and watching Pirates of the Caribbean to kill time.
The movers arrived on schedule, and the foreman was an eerily accurate Latino version of my ex-boyfriend, which was mildly creepy yet wholly comforting. Things were pretty uneventful except for pitiful, tranquilized cat crying. The movers, bless their muscley hearts, managed to get my bed up the spiral staircase (I don’t know what I would have done if they couldn’t), but not the dresser, so now I get dressed in the back hall, which is still pretty private, so I’m cool with it.
There is, of course, much, much more, but I know the attention span of the average MMPer has already been exceeded. And I really have to weewee, so I’ll finish up later. 
Hey, I did this too! My parents gave me a santoku knife for Christmas, and I sliced my hand on Thursday. At least such a sharp knife makes a clean cut which heals quickly. :rolleyes: You’d think I’d know better and would be more careful!
I miss my first car too. I firmly beleive that, had it not taken an unplanned journey across 4 lanes of the beltway and into a tree I’d still be driving it today. Funk Monster was a 1977 Chevy Malibu Classic, pale blue with rust highlights. I loved that car. It was a huge old boat, and I could fit 7 girls plus me in it. I mean, what better use for a car when you’re a teenager?
Oh no no no no no. It doesn’t work that way. I’m trying to determine the Jakeosity of that particular jacket. I’ll send it back. I SWEAR.
Tups, I thought of that, but it’s kinda generic. Plus it was my wife’s suggestion, and we all know that you can’t take the wife’s advice on stuff like naming a car. Names of cars I’ve owned, aside from Funk Monster:
Toad: Pea Soup green Mazda 626.
Soapy Soapbox: White Nissan Stanza, which I decided looked like a Soap Box Racer
Roach: Black Isuzu Pickup Truck, suggested by a friend.
It’s not obvious from the photo, but the bottom section of the phone has a switch for outside lines and inside lines. On the right-hand side, it’s got buttons for the manager (landlord, super, etc) and door, so you can buzz someone in.
Candlestick phones and wood wall phones are generally from the turn of the century to the early 30’s and existed simultaneously for the most part. And why not? They used the same parts - it’s just what holds them together that’s different. The amazing thing is that those old phones can still work on today’s lines.
That’s sort of a mixed blessing in that they “found” a bad bit of wiring and managed to blow it completely, rather than having it be all hot and smoldering up in the attic for a long time until something starts burning.
Heh, none that I can think of. Mine was a 1990 Toyota Corolla, and the color was “Topaz”. More sort of gold, but the cool thing was, no one else picked that color so it was really easy to see in a parking lot! It was beautiful, and as I said, took me away from constrictive parents and into the real world.
Laid a floor?!? <snerk>!
(not you, sean)
I think I’m about to out-juvenile **Swampy ** here…
Hey! Speaking of co-inkey-dinks, I darn near married a guy who’s mom was a Sweet Adelline (sp?) I went to one of her shows and just loved it! What a family. All of them well over six feet tall, The tallest was 6’7". And not only was it a tall family it was a big famly too. Lets see, (counting fingers) 8 kids. Actually, I think I liked the family better than my almost husband. I still miss them after 20 years.
Goodness! I have been remiss.
I have never named an appliance or a car, ever. I am their overlord, and as such, I do not deign to dignify their existances with a moniker. 
My first car was a Datsun 200SX–blue two tone, dontcha know. It had a voice that alerted the driver to all manner of things like “door is ajar” (which we never heard but to say “no-a door is a door!” We are very funny)–it died in a small fender bender with a truck tow-truck. Pushed the wheel base back 3 inches. Totalled.
Next car was a Honda Accord–man, I loved that car.
Never mind the rest of them–I am not all that enamoured of cars. I like my current Volvo (no flower stickers, just an Amnesty sticker on the bumper).
Rain has turned to sleet–I think I need more candles for the Winter Ritual.
Drae --how do the kitties like their new digs? And what are you to do about that dresser? I thought you would be living there alone. Is this roomie a nice person of good family? Answers, we want answers!
Morning all, not much time to chat. I have something that needs to be handled pronto, so I’ll need to to do that, pronto!
dangergene! It’s so nice of you to streak on by. Please drop in with an update on how you’ve been.
Drae, I’m glad the move was, for the most part, uneventful. Eventful moves are NOT good.
I have never named my cars or appliances. Some of my cars have been called POS, on occasion, but that’s about as close to a name as they came.
Well, need to dash.
The kitties were monumentally pissed for a few hours, and I thought I’d never get Sirius out from under my bed, but they have adjusted and are now embracing all the precarious possibilities provided by spiral staircases and lofts and ledges. We found Sirius on top of the refrigerator the other night, looking as if he wasn’t at all sure how to get himself down. He managed.
The dresser thing isn’t a problem, really. The way the back hall is configured, I can stand there and get dressed without having to worry about anybody seeing me unless they have a sudden compelling need to do laundry. I’m cool with that. I think there probably wouldn’t be enough room in the bedroom for the dresser, anyway. I keep my underwear and pajamas in the tower, and everything else at the bottom of the stairs–where it is significantly warmer than my room. (Not sad, just cold.)
I am living with my best friend, who is renting the loft bedroom from me. I’ve known her for nine years (although due to a misunderstanding on both our parts, we didn’t speak for five of them). She’s not necessarily a nice person, which is why I like her. I’d say she’s from a pretty good family. The older of her younger brothers is one of my best friends (and carried my television up a spiral staircase for me on Friday night), and her sixteen-year-old brother is a riot because he’s grown half a foot in an incredibly short amount of time and therefore doesn’t know how tall he is, which makes him hit his head on things on a near-constant basis. I think I’m safe in the roommate department. We have a contract which basically consists of “Mandi pays Jessie X dollars per month for the room. All parties are required to call first when bringing unexpected guests into the house, because dancing in the living room while scantily-clad is a constant possibility. If one party gets lucky, the other party is allowed to smirk knowingly at the Overnight Guest over coffee in the morning.”