tobermory's Diaryland Diary


Pluck You!

La la la. Today is a good day. All the paperwork is in at the bank and all I have to do now is call the company that is Ďhostingí the closing and find out exactly how huge the check is that I need to bring with me to the closing. It will be the most ginormous check Iíve ever personally had to sign. I will be so happy to put this fucker to bed that Iím considering bringing bottles of cheap champagne with me and spraying them around the room where the closing is held a la sporting title wins. Maybe Iíll even dump a tub of cold Gatorade over my lawyer.

Then the real fun begins. Steve-o will be receiving a similarly ginormous check for his mechanics lien Ė for all the labor, architectural design work, and supplies that he has put into the house. This is money that we really kinda sorta need for a number of things Ė like finishing the house, buying me a car that doesnít suck gas like a thirst crazed Bedouin, and other stuff that Iím probably forgetting about right now. But we canít touch it for 5 years. Thatís the statute of limitations that his crazy Aunt and Uncle have to sue over the amount. Gah. What really upsets me is that itís five more years before I can order the big pink script neon sign that spells out ďFuck You C****Ē that will become our Christmas Card to Steveís Aunt. I was so looking forward to spending some of the money on that. Strangely, I think that this might inflame them and cause them to step up their litigation, so I think itís best to wait the full five years on that little accessory.

Iím taking the spin class in the crowded sweaty room again today. This time I think Iíll try to get a bike that isnít next to anyone so I donít bump any hot slimy elbows. Ew. Whatís totally excellent is that itís over at about 5:15 which leaves me plenty oí time to run to the grocery store and stock up on foodables. Dare I say, the cupboard is bare? It is indeed. I have a recipe for homemade panko-breaded chicken patties that looks completely scrumptious and Iím itchiní to try it. I think I can get panko breadcrumbs at the Japanese market and then all I have to do is find the gumption to touch raw chicken. As far as Iím concerned, raw chicken is just about the grossest thing around. When I had two guy roommates who liked to cook, theyíd chase me around the house with the nasty bits that theyíd cut off the chicken boobs and I would run away squealing like a five year old girl. Once I was reading the paper in the kitchen and Jim, one of the two roomies, put some nasty bit on the back of my neck. I still shudder thinking about it. Iíd rather have to step barefoot on a hairy spider. OK, thatís an exaggeration, but you get my point. Iíll have to see if the desire for golden crisp chicken patties outweighs the squickieness of the raw chicken. Mmmm. In the meantime, since Iím on my own for dinner tonight I think Iíll have a Chikínípattie sandwich. Thatís un-chicken or faux fowl for those not in the know, and itís a pretty good approximation of a school cafeteria chicken pattie. Tas-tee! Put that baby on a bagel and make a side of sautťed spinach and there yaí go!

By the way, on the tweezing front? Iím doing just fine, thanks! My eyebrows only require minimal touching up with the pencil thingy these days and I seem to have broken the habit of perpetually looking for teeny new hairs to pluck away. Remember: Donít Fear The Tweezer. I just wanted to write that.

This weekend Steve and I are headed up to the land oí cheese, Americaís Dairyland, the place where Illinois drivers are hated: Wisconsin. We have free tickets to Fridayís Brewers game and I got a good rate at the Pfister (heh. I typed PfisterÖ.) which is Milwaukeeís nicest hotel. Is that an oxymoron? Like Jumbo Shrimp? Anyway, Iím looking forward to staying in stately grandeur with spiffy complimentary Aveda toiletries a huge tub and an indoor pool! I hope to god that they have an oldtimey hotel bar where Steve and I can whoop it up on Friday after the game and get suitabley plowed to celebrate our new homeownerosity, and then a fabulous breakfast spot where I can drown my hangover in bacon and eggs the next morning. Oh wait, I donít get hangovers. Thatís Steve who gets the hangovers. Bwaaahahahaha. We have a ton of stuff planned that will keep us on the run all weekend. My parents are coming up too because theyíre fun to travel with and letís face it, they pick up all the dinner checks. I donít want to spill too many beans about this weekend or my Monday update will be sadly lacking in content, so Iíll shut up now.

Iíll post tomorrow after I have my total of ginormousness thatís due to the bank-type folk if Iím still able to type after the shock. Steve stopped by the bank yesterday and seemed shocked by how nice everyone was. I countered with the fact that with the size of the wad Iím coughing up to them they had better be nice. Thatís all for today Ė be back tomorrow.

3:49 p.m. - 2004-05-12


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