So Chris and I are sitting in the den of my grandmother's house, where we're staying while the house is being built, and we're watching Saturday Night Live. They're doing the news segment, like they do. And they do this super funny story on the AIG bailout. My cell phone rings, and it's my grandmother, calling me from her bedroom.
Mommy Ann: Calling long distance.
Me: I'll accept the charges.
MA: Are you watching anything on TV right now?
Me: Well, sorta yeah. Why?
MA: Because you need to turn to Channel 13. Saturday Night Live is on and it's hilarious.
Is she the coolest or WHAT?
10.09.2008
7.22.2008
Text exchange
Me: You have a package.
Chris: You bet I do.
M: God delivered it, you signed for it.
C: Yep. Just my package.
M: Seriously, though, you have a package.
C: I know. You've seen it. I've got proof and everything.
M: Sigh.
Chris: You bet I do.
M: God delivered it, you signed for it.
C: Yep. Just my package.
M: Seriously, though, you have a package.
C: I know. You've seen it. I've got proof and everything.
M: Sigh.
6.26.2008
Brush with Fame
So, yesterday, yeah? We're in downtown Atlanta -- my husband and I, my parents, West and Hannah -- and we're cussing our way through traffic trying to figure out where the Cobb Theater is, 'cause we're going to see Eddie Izzard perform there in a couple of hours. We take a turn that we think will get us there, and it's the wrong turn, of course (because in Atlanta, two wrongs don't make a right, but they are pre-requisite). We find ourselves in this swanky brick-paved parking complex for some nice hotel. And as we're looking for a place to turn around, West points out this guy standing off the road a ways on this grassy knoll with a soccer ball, putting his shirt on.
West: Wow, um, that guy kinda looks like Eddie Izzard.
Hannah: What guy?
W: That guy.
H: Whoa, yeah, he does kinda look like Eddie Izzard.
Liz: The guy with his shirt over his head? Somehow, he really does...even with his shirt over his head.
W, H, L (unison): We should turn around.
*This falls on deaf ears as Dad, who is driving, continues to concentrate on cussing through traffic, as well he should. We shortly turn into a lane that ends up being the exit for a parking deck, so we back all the way out of said lane with a car following us face-to-face, presumably exiting the parking deck. When the smoke clears, we're going the way we came. And Mystery Man is crossing the street beside us.*
Mom: He was wearing a yellow shirt like the landscaping crew up the hill. He's probably with them.
Chris: There he is. He's crossing the street.
L: Holy shit. It's him. It's him. Holy shit.
W: Stop. The car.
Okay, so some stuff went down before West and Hannah jumped out of the car to try and catch up with Mr. Izzard. But it mostly involved me learning things about myself, namely, that any illusions I might've had about staying cool in the face of fame are...inaccurate. At least we didn't react as badly as the car behind us -- also headed to the concert, also lost -- who were slowing down to ask the nice pedestrian crossing in front of them for directions, and upon realizing who he was, accidentally hit the gas instead of the brake. No wonder he hurried off.
So West and Hannah jump out and try to catch him to invite him to have dinner with us. Because that's what we do for celebrities here in the South. We run you over, chase you down on foot, and invite you for a Frisco Melt at the Steak 'N Shake. Unfortunately, he'd disappeared into the hotel before they could catch up to him. Who knows if that was really his hotel or if he just popped in to call 911.
West: Wow, um, that guy kinda looks like Eddie Izzard.
Hannah: What guy?
W: That guy.
H: Whoa, yeah, he does kinda look like Eddie Izzard.
Liz: The guy with his shirt over his head? Somehow, he really does...even with his shirt over his head.
W, H, L (unison): We should turn around.
*This falls on deaf ears as Dad, who is driving, continues to concentrate on cussing through traffic, as well he should. We shortly turn into a lane that ends up being the exit for a parking deck, so we back all the way out of said lane with a car following us face-to-face, presumably exiting the parking deck. When the smoke clears, we're going the way we came. And Mystery Man is crossing the street beside us.*
Mom: He was wearing a yellow shirt like the landscaping crew up the hill. He's probably with them.
Chris: There he is. He's crossing the street.
L: Holy shit. It's him. It's him. Holy shit.
W: Stop. The car.
Okay, so some stuff went down before West and Hannah jumped out of the car to try and catch up with Mr. Izzard. But it mostly involved me learning things about myself, namely, that any illusions I might've had about staying cool in the face of fame are...inaccurate. At least we didn't react as badly as the car behind us -- also headed to the concert, also lost -- who were slowing down to ask the nice pedestrian crossing in front of them for directions, and upon realizing who he was, accidentally hit the gas instead of the brake. No wonder he hurried off.
So West and Hannah jump out and try to catch him to invite him to have dinner with us. Because that's what we do for celebrities here in the South. We run you over, chase you down on foot, and invite you for a Frisco Melt at the Steak 'N Shake. Unfortunately, he'd disappeared into the hotel before they could catch up to him. Who knows if that was really his hotel or if he just popped in to call 911.
6.21.2008
House Blog
Looks like we finally have a ballpark for how much our revised house plan will cost to dry in: about $60,000, possibly less. If the old rule of thumb holds true, we should be able to get into it lock and key (look at me throwing out the mad insider lingo) for about twice that. That, my friends, would actually be...drumroll please...within our budget. I realize there are a LOT of variables in there. For instance, I'm sure that "dry-in x 2" rule assumes that you don't go overboard on any of your finishing, which we probably will on a couple of things, like the wood windows (I'm not a fan of the look of vinyl, or the fact that universally, the color options offered are white and almond. Except one company we looked at had a Desert Sand option. Fancy, no? No.). On the other hand, we're taking on a significant chunk of the work entirely on our own, which might balance us back out. Or not. I've never once heard that story about the couple that built their beautiful, perfect, exactly-the-way-they-wanted-it dream home under budget. Or within budget, come to think of it. So in my grounded, completely realistic appraisal, we will obviously be the first.
4.05.2008
Proving my Love
I just gave my bird a shot. An injection. I don't think anything more need be said, but I'm going to anyway because I feel equal parts proud and kinda stupid, and I need to share that.
Casper has been sick. I will NOT go into the details here, because I'd have no way to undo the mental picture it would burn into your brain. I'll simply tell you that his illness has transformed us somehow into those crazy "animal people." The ones who take their pets to specialists in Birmingham and pay for invasive (read: expensive) surgery. He had to stay at the animal hospital (yes, animal hospital, not vet's office, nonononono...) for four days. On Thursday, the doctor called and said he thought it would help if we'd visit him. Visit. Him. In Birmingham.
So we did.
How can I explain this to you? I feel like my body chemistry has been altered in some way. I drove an hour-and-a-half to VISIT A BIRD. And then, and then, the very next day? West and I drove through a thunderstorm, tornado sirens wailing, to pick him up and bring him home. I mean, what the hell has happened to me? I don't even like him that much...unless you count that secretly I do.
I think it's that Casper's doctor had sort of a contagious attitude. I wish you could meet this man. I wish he were my doctor, despite the technicality that he's never practiced medicine on a human before. He would cure me with caring. When he told us we'd have to give Casper injections, he made me believe I could do it. I mean, I've never given anyone, or anything, a shot before. And to practice on something that you can't explain yourself to...you can't tell him to be still, you can't tell him you're not trying to kill him so he should reconsider clamping down on your thumb with the same razor beak he just used to crush an almond...it was just a little scary. But Dr. Atlas gave me confidence. And today, when I did it, I felt like I'd just climbed Mt. Everest. And then I kinda felt like an idiot for being so excited about it and for becoming such an animal-hugging freak. I've been sort of waffling between those emotions ever since.
Casper has been sick. I will NOT go into the details here, because I'd have no way to undo the mental picture it would burn into your brain. I'll simply tell you that his illness has transformed us somehow into those crazy "animal people." The ones who take their pets to specialists in Birmingham and pay for invasive (read: expensive) surgery. He had to stay at the animal hospital (yes, animal hospital, not vet's office, nonononono...) for four days. On Thursday, the doctor called and said he thought it would help if we'd visit him. Visit. Him. In Birmingham.
So we did.
How can I explain this to you? I feel like my body chemistry has been altered in some way. I drove an hour-and-a-half to VISIT A BIRD. And then, and then, the very next day? West and I drove through a thunderstorm, tornado sirens wailing, to pick him up and bring him home. I mean, what the hell has happened to me? I don't even like him that much...unless you count that secretly I do.
I think it's that Casper's doctor had sort of a contagious attitude. I wish you could meet this man. I wish he were my doctor, despite the technicality that he's never practiced medicine on a human before. He would cure me with caring. When he told us we'd have to give Casper injections, he made me believe I could do it. I mean, I've never given anyone, or anything, a shot before. And to practice on something that you can't explain yourself to...you can't tell him to be still, you can't tell him you're not trying to kill him so he should reconsider clamping down on your thumb with the same razor beak he just used to crush an almond...it was just a little scary. But Dr. Atlas gave me confidence. And today, when I did it, I felt like I'd just climbed Mt. Everest. And then I kinda felt like an idiot for being so excited about it and for becoming such an animal-hugging freak. I've been sort of waffling between those emotions ever since.
2.29.2008
Hello again, drawing board
I apologize in advance if this becomes "house blog" for the next year or so. On the other hand, hey! I'm blogging! So go stuff your head with crackers! I don't wanna hear your bitching and moaning about how boring and technical Liz's blog is now that she's building her house because you can just go read somebody else's blog if you don't like it! Go to Cookie's blog, since you think she's SO FUNNY AND GREAT!
Hee.
Anyways, we finally heard back from our contractor. His estimate was that our house will cost about $WayTooMuch.50. Plus or minus. So we freaked out, threw up a few times, started frantically looking at completely different house plans, then took a few deep breaths and solved the problem. FYI, building up is way cheaper than building out, so if you ever design your own house, put your bedroom upstairs. Not only will you save lots of money, you'll keep those great-looking calf muscles for the next 50 years.
I remember some author (no idea which one) was talking about how to write a great book or something, and they said you have to be prepared to let go of your favorite thing for the good of the whole. Favorite sentence, plot point, character, whatever, everything has to be expendible if it doesn't fit (which, according to this person, happens every time). I'm sure this point has wider implications than just creative writing, but I can tell you for sure that it's been my experience with designing a house. Almost everything we originally loved about it is gone now, but overall, it's a much better design than what we started with. My only sticking point, however, is my secret door. I WILL HAVE A SECRET DOOR. I don't know who, in their right mind, would take the enormous time, energy, and emotional strain to design and build their own home and NOT put a secret door in there somewhere.
Hee.
Anyways, we finally heard back from our contractor. His estimate was that our house will cost about $WayTooMuch.50. Plus or minus. So we freaked out, threw up a few times, started frantically looking at completely different house plans, then took a few deep breaths and solved the problem. FYI, building up is way cheaper than building out, so if you ever design your own house, put your bedroom upstairs. Not only will you save lots of money, you'll keep those great-looking calf muscles for the next 50 years.
I remember some author (no idea which one) was talking about how to write a great book or something, and they said you have to be prepared to let go of your favorite thing for the good of the whole. Favorite sentence, plot point, character, whatever, everything has to be expendible if it doesn't fit (which, according to this person, happens every time). I'm sure this point has wider implications than just creative writing, but I can tell you for sure that it's been my experience with designing a house. Almost everything we originally loved about it is gone now, but overall, it's a much better design than what we started with. My only sticking point, however, is my secret door. I WILL HAVE A SECRET DOOR. I don't know who, in their right mind, would take the enormous time, energy, and emotional strain to design and build their own home and NOT put a secret door in there somewhere.
2.18.2008
The Waiting Game
When last you read of our intrepid heroes, they were moving in with their parents/in-laws to set the stage for the building of Chez Woodlayson (the "n" is silent).
After six months of being back with the fam, I can tell you objectively what works, and what doesn't work, about this situation.
PROS:
After six months of being back with the fam, I can tell you objectively what works, and what doesn't work, about this situation.
PROS:
- Better food.
- Better beer.
- More money (although, seeing as part of the point was to pay off debts super-fast, we haven't actually had more money, like, in our hands, smelling that wonderful way that money smells...until you handle it too long and the smell gets on your hands and then it just smells gross, like how food smells great until you throw it in the garbage can and then it's officially garbage and it suddenly smells awful).
- Full-size bed.
- Increased CO2 levels resulting from breathing air that at least three other people have already breathed.
- Let's just say it's generally a bit cramped.
All in all, I'd say the pros have outweighed the cons. However, I'm getting a little antsy. We had a perc test done two weeks ago and we've been waiting to get the paperwork back to give the Health Dept. We heard from them today, asking us to call the guys who did our land survey and give them permission to e-mail them the CAD file. So I call the surveyors and they were complete butt-heads about giving the perc guys the file. The lady was all, "They're just trying to get out of doing it themselves." And I'm thinking, why the hell would they do something themselves that you've already done? By all means, let's make them earn their keep by being needlessly redundant, then they can join the higher eschelons of the professional class in the company of doctors and lawyers.
We're also waiting on a bid/material list from a contractor who was supposed to get back with us about a month ago, but I don't take this personally at all. First of all, it was deer season. Second, the last thing I need is for the very first stages to go smoothly and give me a false sense of the level of insanity I should expect.
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