I wasn't gonna post any pictures until the top was done but I've got that subject line as an earworm driving me crazy ever since I started painting it and I'm hoping this'll get rid of it.

The old door, hardware removed and primed:



I had two cans of this spray paint just laying around waiting to be useful so-- it was useful.



Nope, can't go to work cuz my ass is a pain but I sure can sit on a cement pad and paint. It helps to have The Boy fetch for me since walking is shitty. Next up-- painting the recessed part of the panels copper (to match the metal in the window) and putting clear glass mosaic tiles over that. Then I'ma grout that in black. AND THEN probably an Art Nouveau stencil. Whaddaya think?

For those of you who like Superheros, nudity, Japan and the smell of fish while getting kicked in the face, I bring you Cutie Honey.





I should add that this is a Japanese superheroine TV show.

I have plans for every single one of my hours this year. Not a single second is alloted for my stupid fucking ass. I've already downed an Alleve and soaked in a hot, hot bath so it was possible for me to drag my leg down the stairs. Doesn't look like I'll be able to drag it to work, however.

'Soright, I guess. I'll come in on Columbus Day instead.

They were supposed to take the door(s). They didn't. I am now going to attempt to turn it into a table. If you have it, please give advice.

No matter how much fun you think it will be, never stick you dick in the crazy. It always comes back to boil your bunny.

I see a claim for The Carmelite Monestary and in my mind's eye I a bunch of fat chicks praying for low-cal sweets.

As befits a person of my considerable girth, most of my pants have elastic in the waistband. I am proud to report that I can no longer put my wallet into the pockets of these pants as the wallet will drag the pants down until I look like a hip-hop granny. Which means I have a fat wallet and a less fat waist.

All due, I think, to my decision to try and eat better. Maybe I should buy a scale and see if this circumstantial evidence is bourn out by facts. Nah-- scales are the devil. I learned that at the weekly exorcism at Weight Watchers.



But, like I've mentioned before, when you are as fat as I am, things like this make very little visual difference.

Lets start with the most contrasting pics--


New screen door handle:







Old screen door handle:





( New door/Old door outside. )


It's not very clear in the old door picture from the inside but if you look closely you'll see the very tight fit across the top and the sunlight leeching in at the bottom. This is because the old door was slanted and not properly seated in it's frame.

( New door/Old door inside. )


What I thought were solid pieces of wood framing the inside turned out to be wooden slats that touched the door and dry wall slats nailed to that painted to look a like wood.

( Inside frames. )

The old sill rotting away and my brand new shiny sill.
( Sills! )

The new screen door also comes with a screen to replace the glass. Plus, I got a new house icon. Wheeee!

And he is cursing the whole way. He had to remove the whole front of the house by the door, from the porch floor up to the porch roof. Those things that I thought were blocks of wood painted white was, in fact, drywall. Not weatherized type drywall. Justin says it was rotten and moldy all the way through.

Also, according to Justin, door guy is cursing every do-it-yourselfer who ever did it himself. The previous owner apparently bought a door he liked and then did whatever weirdness he could think of to make the door fit. Probably why we had to lift the door by the knob to open and close it.

Did you ever find someone creepy and. . . unwholesome for no reason and then you think that maybe it's just you because very few people seem to think so and then you find out that everybody seems to think so, only they have more tact than you do and don't have any problems acting as if they like someone they loathe?

There is a boss who I've mentioned rubs me the wrong way. I find him creepy and a bit. . . unwholesome. At first I thought it was his litte, tiny, T-Rex arms. But surely I'm not so shallow that something physical and not in control of the person could make me shudder when he spoke to me. Then it became waaaay obvious he's a titty-starer. Not my titties as they are matronly in appearance. Nope, my daughter mentioned it (her titties being young and perky). Tweedle Dee then complained to the floor about it ("That's your fault for having such a nice rack," I told her). But then I watched him in action and it is beyond rude how he looks Tweedle in the nipples when he talks to her. Good thing mine are matronly because we certainly would have had words if he stared at me like that.

Then AnimaLover called him Porn Wanker on FB. Because she went into his office and caught him looking at porn with his hands under the table not within sight. I wondered how he'd reach with his tiny little T-Rex arms.

After that I found out that my guymates call him Number 2 because he thinks he's second in command but he's really nothing but a little shit. Their words, not mine. He lies, you see. He does things that he was told (by a lowly adjuster who has only worked for this company for 12 years, unlike new boss who has been here just about a year now) would not work and cause problems. Then lies and says he was never told by anyone the consequences of his on-the-face-of-it stupid actions. He also lies and says he's done things other people have done. To take credit.

He asks rhetorical questions and demands answers. "What's shakin'?" better get a whole sentence of an answer or he'll continue to ask it until he gets one. His bestest employee, who likes to go into his office for half an hour at a time to chat, is The Cancer. YCC once said that they should just close the door and fuck.


But it's his creepy vibe that gets me. Why can't I be like other people and pretend to like him?

This was waiting for me when I got home:



It's winking at me. Probably planning the anal probe.

OMG! He's on stage in what my boss referred to as a "chaffing dish". The President of Black People (who got the title after Jessie Jackson refused to dump the Jheri curls for a perm) Sharpton is speachifying over his corpse.

You know what? Perhaps the grand finale will be the coffin opening up and Michael will jump out on wires and moonwalk one last time. The perfect end to the freakshow. Maybe he'll even say "Gothcha ya!"



ETA: Maybe I'd be taking this better if there wasn't some crazy Cancer sobbing at her desk as she streams it. "It's so sad he died so young." Young? He was 50 years old. Surely kinda young to die but "so young"?

STAB!

Perhaps only a few of you will understand why I see this guy crashing into a flaming hoop:
S. David Osbourne

Yesterday I had 3 beef short ribs for brunch, went freakazoid batshit at Home Depot, then came home and had 2 sweet Italian sausages for dinner. There was no veggie side dish, no onions and peppers-- if it wasn't for the hot dog bun the sausages were put into, it would have been a totally carnivorous day. And I cut away any part of the bun that did not touch meat.

Everybody better be nice to me today, I'm in a red-blooded mood.

All I had to do was demand my money back for the installation and, viola, installation scheduled.

This is Zion. He was born before Memorial Day last year but wasn't due until after the 4th of July. He was just over 3lbs. He is also Dany's brother's grandson. Frankie (Dany's brother. Yes, his name isn't Frank or Franklin. It's Frankie. Like Dany is Dany. Dunno, that's just the way his mommy did it) pretty much is raising him.

Scooby, Frankie's daughter, lives at home but really didn't want a baby. She loves Zion like a brother. Anyway, here's Zion, Ebony, Justin and a little bit of Kevin.

Steve McNair got shot?!

Could one of you guys do this and report the results?

I know a supervisor of mine who's gonna be disappointed. Or blame Clinton. Or think it's a great idea. Probably think it's a great idea.

http://www.reuters.com/article/sarahPalin/idUSTRE5624VW20090703

The real hard gardening work is in the spring. Now we reap the benefits. I pulled up my garlic. It's a little early in the season but the garlic I planted sprouted last fall, grew a good 6 or 7 inches and stayed green all winter long. The stalks had fallen over they were so waterlogged and were brown 3/4ths up. You're supposed to harvest when they are brown 2/3rds up. Which is supposed to happen in the middle of July or in August.

One half of a store bought garlic yielded 8 plump heads. A great return.

Another thing. I've got two rather small vases. I'd like to have them filled with pretty flowers at all times. And also still have flowers outside. I just don't know how to go about doing that. Here is the vase I filled today:



The other vase remains empty.

The daisies in the pot no longer have full blown blooms. There are buds getting ready but no flowers this minute. So outside the daisies are just a bunch of green leaves. The celosia in the vase are the ones that fell over under their own weight. I think, like the garlic, all this water is weakening the stems. The dahlias have plenty of flowers. The orange ones anyway. The purple and red ones have spent flowers and budding flowers.

I need super flowers that give enough blooms so that I don't feel bad cutting enough for two vases while leaving some for outside show. And I do feel bad cutting the flowers off. I'm dumb that way.