Pink Prickly Pear

New view

From my bedroom window...

My computer's not set up yet, nor have we organized our Internet access, but hey, that's not a terrible photo on ye olde iPhone and the typepad mo-blogging app's no slouch either!

Moving out.

My landlord left a message this afternoon. Had I scheduled the carpet cleaning yet, or was that something he was going to have to set up?

So locals? Is this a California thing? The (cheap) carpet was new when we moved in. Two years on and it's showing its age - noticable traffic patterns appeared early on. Spots and minor stains happen, and we tyically use a stain remover as they occur. There are a couple of spots I was going to lift with Bac-out once all the furniture and boxes were out of the way. Now he's got me thinking he's going to nickle and dime us on our security deposit. We've never not had a security deposit returned. Despite the dog and children, we're not generally hard on our living spaces. But no one's ever asked me to do heavier cleaning upon vacating. I'm sure most landlords assume there will be some upgrades between tenants - a little repainting, window cleaning, carpet cleaning and/or replacement, etc. but I think that's their responsibility. We've spackled our picture hanging holes, scrubbed the bathrooms, wiped down the baseboards, thoroughly cleaned the kitchen, swept and vacuumed. I think we probably do more than most. So am I expected to spring for steam cleaning?

Testing...

Mo-blogging.

My new fridge smells.

Good thing we don't actually move until next week.  The new fridge (which is actually very old, so old it has a mismatched wooden - not plastic faux wood grain, but real wood - door handle) is unplugged and the doors are wide open and the insides have been scrubbed with Lysol.  If it's still stinky in a couple of days I may have to break down and get some...gasp...bleach.  Later on I'll stop by with a newly purchased plug and soak the fridge shelves in the tub.

It's the minutia that keeps you reading, isn't it?

While I was scrubbing down the fridge with hot sudsy water, I had the heater cranked.  After two hours we'd inched from 56 up to 58 degrees.  Southern California houses are just not built to retain the heat, which is stupid because it does get chilly.

Still, it's the ocean view we are after and the ocean view we will get, albeit with woolly hats on.  We look good in hats.  We like wearing them indoors!

Since I heard you needed to look it up...

...a covenient link clears up any confusion about santorum.

3:30 Dentist Appointment

I don't know what substance Dr. W used to cement in my new crown, but it tasted like robot santorum.

So kids!  What's for dinner?!?

Lately, I've been craving one-vegetable meals.

What's a one-vegetable meal?  What it sounds like, mostly.  What really satisfies my craving is taking an entire head of cauliflower, tossing it in a little olive oil and curry powder and roasting it.  Then I eat the whole thing.  That's a good lunch.

It works with smaller vegetables too, but of course the one in one-vegetable refers to one variety of as opposed to a one single vegetable.  Little baby sweet potatoes require no dressing - I roast or steam them and eat them whole, in their skins.  A whole plate of steamed brussel sprouts sprinkled with salt and pepper goes down just dandy.  The rest of the family thinks I'm a bit weird, but I'll reserve weird to describe those pregnant ladies who eat chalk or coffee grounds and for the little dog down the block who eats poop.

I can't roast anything anymore though, because the oven doesn't work.  Frustrating, especially as I only discovered this after prepping a ton of food for baking and roasting (I read How to Cook a Wolf recently by M.F.K Fisher and have started cooking in batches in the interests of saving energy/being a greener home chef) and then had to come up with alternate means of cooking everything.  D'anjou was not amused by my extended kitchen shenanigans.

I thought it was just the pilot light, but after a thorough investigation realized that my oven uses something called hot surface ignition.  I love the internet.  Without it, I'm not sure I would know that what the oven needs is a new carborundum coil.  I also know I could replace it myself, but think this is beyond my responsibility as a renter.  Besides, I've got boxes to pack.

Oh, this one...

He sucks his toes every chance he gets.  Big moist slurps and squeals of contentment. 

I know what he's thinking, "Just try and cover them with socks".

She makes all the lesbians scream.

So, whenever I hear these fucking wingnuts straight people going off on why the gays shouldn't get married, I always think, "Really?  It bothers you that much?"

Because honestly, if you're not gay and you don't travel in gay circles, just how big of an impact does it have on your day to day existence if two ladies up the block want to file their taxes together or have next of kin privileges at the hospital?  How does that threaten your marriage?  Not that I'm able to grasp any of their hateful, ignorant argument, but in particular, the bit about their own marriages being threatened, maybe I'm stupid, but I just don't quite get that one...at all.

At any rate, the other day, we were out walking the dog.  There's this house we always walk past.  Before the election the yard was plastered with those hateful Yes on 8 signs and at Christmas, there was this big inflatable Jesus in the yard.  Yeah...some haters.  Got to bring Jesus (you know, that peaceful love your neighbor guy in the hip sandals?) into it.

Anyway, I'm walking up towards the house and I do this double take.  And I real quick look over at Mr. Pear and he's just done a double take as well.  Because standing in the front yard is this very (stereotypically) butch lady.  She's got her severely short hairstyle, her steel rimmed glasses.  No flannel shirt, but a sort of shapeless thermal top and a swagger.  My gaydar wasn't just beeping - it was like an air raid siren going off.

That poor woman must be that family's Mary Cheney!  was what immediately came to mind...but then this other lady I recognized from the neighborhood walked up and they started chatting and it was clear, from their conversation, that this wasn't their lesbian daughter or cousin or sister come over for a visit, but this was the planter of the Yes on 8 signs and the owner of the inflatable Jesus herself!

No wonder the gays intimidate this poor bewildered woman!  They must be licking their 'staches at her every time she pulls up next to them in her Toyota Tacoma!  Every time she's mulling over the tool selection at Home Depot, they must be cruising the poor thing and asking if they don't know her from line dancing!  This tease must be getting the reckless eyeball from every lesbian between here and the Sierra Nevadas!

So, I think I get it...a little.  As far as she's concerned, the gays are coming to get her.  Those lesbians especially.  Come on over to the dark side, they beckon.  All. the. time.  Don't give her a moments rest.

She must be vigilant with her yard signs.

It's not in the dictionary yet...

yellegate

verb
1.	transfer power to someone, and don't let them forget you still have power over them
2.	loudly, bossily give an assignment to (a person) to a post, or assign a task to (a person)