(no subject)
Jun. 20th, 2002 10:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dragonlady7Sigh.
been a busy day... have just finished working on my car, and am sitting in my room, listening to the peaceful evening sounds—dad running the table saw, my two end sisters (oldest—katy—24, youngest—ann—17) playing a rambunctious game of tackle... badminton, Mom making potato salad in the half-redone kitchen, Fiona sitting in her car cleaning it out with the radio blaring that Sublime song that i haven’t heard in forever (‘lovin, is what i got...’)... whatever happened to my Sublime CD? I had two albums... ah well.
read more to hear about my day... not whining, for once...
This morning we replaced the cabinets above the counter near the stove, and above the refrigerator. My task ended up being to wash all the grimy dishes that came out of the cabinets we were replacing—a few were clean, because Mom uses them, but many were covered in greasy dust from being above the oven for years and never being touched. I found some fascinating treasuresup there, including a set of candlesticks that I mistook initially for wood, until I noticed a small iridescent patch on one of them. Hmm, i thought, that must be some kind of artsy copper thing, until I turned them over. The undersides of the bases were silver. Holy shit, I realized: They were silver candlesticks, tarnished entirely black. Ann arrived home right then, and I handed them over to her, and she polished them. That’s her job, in the house. Self-imposed. There are many others, including sheet-folder and wall-washer, simply because nobody else can do them or will, and it’s deeply important to Ann that they get done.
So I spent about three hours washing dishes. It was pleasant, because dad was working in the kitchen too, and my sisters were bopping around doing various tasks, including mowing the lawn, which i’m not sorry to have missed out on (i got finished with the washing just as katy got finished with the last patch of lawn). I figured it was a good time to do the washing, while dad was working, because I was right there in case he needed me. Mostly he would need two of us at once to hold a cabinet so he could put the screws in perfectly straight. They’re not heavy, just awkward. Once he was putting up a cabinet wedged in a corner, and just Katy was holding it up, and he dropped the screw, and it went right down Katy’s bra. That caused much hilarity.
When I came down first thing, like nine a.m., we were listening to katy’s cd of alan jackson (?), some country dude. it was the only cd she had with her. i brought mine down, and we listened to Gillian Welch, Roger Cline (and the peacemakers, and the refreshments), Steve Earle, Mermaid Avenue Vol. I, and a little Ryan Adams. Dad liked Gillian Welch; he used to hear music a bit like that on the radio late at night when his brother tuned it to WWVA, Wild Something West Virginia, an old AM station that would bounce off the clouds and come in in Bayside Queens on cloudy summer nights—atmospheric transference or something like that. His brother was into finding weird things like that; Dad just listened when it entertained him.
It’s too bad I never knew Uncle Brian; he sounds interesting. But his wife won’t let him talk to his family. His daughter Jessie lives up here now, and she’s a lot of fun—she comes to our family ‘do’s quite often now, things like Thanksgiving and New Year’s when she’s not home with her mother’s family. I never knew her mother; Brian and Marie divorced like a decade or more ago. Dad remembers her as being a terribly immature daddy’s little boy, and an alcoholic to boot. Jessie agrees, but says after the divorce she started going to AA, and she met and married a fellow member of AA, and has totally turned her life around. Most recently she’s gotten onto the Internet (though it terrifies her, and she’s apparently quite funny about it) and is e-mailing people; she sent me a mail and I never finished my reply. I’d feel worse if i’d seen her even once since I was four... ;p It’s very cute though, she and Jessie have identical e-mail addresses except Jessie’s has her birth year—77—on the end, and Marie’s has her birth year—53—on the end.
So anyhow. There should be some relatives here for My Party this weekend, which isn’t really my party—it’s really because katy’s home, an excuse to get everyone in the world that we know together. almost none of my friends can come—last count was three, and while those three are certainly greatly appreciated, that doesn’t make it a party for me; katy has like twelve friends coming. Ah well, not that I care; for the moment, this is plenty, and when (when!) I get my glamorous apartment and my fabulous job (should those two adjectives be reversed? not sure...) I’ll have a massive party for everyone I know and we’ll have a two-day bender and do everything that one has to do to christen a new apartment and gain it good living karma. I’ll shoot for Labor Day weekend, to give myself some time to settle in. (really! it could happen! In fact, it must, because the garage has no heat.)
i think the next phase of my job search is to follow mom’s suggestion (crazy as that sounds) and look at universities. find one i’d like to become a student at, and then look into employment opportunities there.
only problem? I have no fucking clue how to go about finding a university. I totally blew the process of finding one for undergrad, and ended up at the first place that took me. As for grad school... well, i know what I want to do, but I don’t know what they call what I want to do. Honestly I have no idea. I’m not even sure I’ve come up with a good name for it.
Anyhow. I should start that. Maybe I will tonight.
See, having done something makes me feel more useful. Oh, I never finished saying what I’d done all day—after the cabinets and dishwashing and a bit of aimless puttering, Dad and I changed the oil in my car, which was entertaining. I’d tried to before but I couldn’t find the damn nut to loosen under the oil pan. My problem is that my arms are shorter than dad’s, and I can’t really fit my chest under my car when it’s not jacked up. I lie on my back and I can fit my head under the car, and my shoulder, but then my boobs sort of go squish and I’m a bit stuck, and it’s terribly claustrophobic. I could probably squish them and get under the car, but I’d get really really filthy, and probably not be able to really breathe, and that wouldn’t be pleasant.
Anyhow, it’s just as well dad was there, because last time i got my oil changed it was midwinter and i went to delta sonic because that was easier, and they screwed the filter on so tight it broke dad’s filter-loosener-wrench when we tried to get it off. In fact, it broke both of his filter-loosener-wrenchy-thingies. It was ludicrous. Also, when they’d rotated my tires when I got the car inspected, they’d screwed the lug-nuts on so tight that I needed the eighteen-inch breaker bar to get them off. Mind you, I was standing on the breaker bar. And bouncing. Standing on the END of the breaker bar. And bouncing. I weigh, I might mention, 184 pounds, with clothing on, as the doctor’s office decreed as of one week and two days ago. Dad estimated I was applying about 350 foot-pounds of pressure to the lug-nuts. It took some of them about thirty seconds of me bouncing to loosen them.
Now tell me, why would you put the lugnuts on that tight? Imagine you’ve got a flat, in the middle of nowhere. Maybe you’re a small woman, with wailing children. It’s pouring rain, getting dark, and you’re miles from help. And your lugnuts are welded to the studs. What the hell is the point? Dad’s always insisted on hand-tightening those things, and has never had a wheel fall off. He can always get the wheel off when he needs to. The little woman in the middle of nowhere, well she’s just fucked because the factory guys just used their ginormous electric spinner thingies to screw those puppies on there so tight they stretch the studs; those wheels are never coming off...
So think about it next time you get your tires rotated: can you get those lugnuts off with the tool you have in your car? Hmmm.... food for thought.
So my oil is changed and the grease fittings on my front wheels lubricated, and then I washed my car. I got grease all over my arms and legs, and face, and dirt where I kept pulling my too-low-cut shirt up so my bra wouldn’t show in front, and dirt where I kept pulling my little yellow shorts back down where they were supposed to be. Apparently I’m quite a sight, though I don’t mind...
Anyhow, I’m sleepy, so i’d better go socialize with the family before I pass out.
Just thought I’d write a good long update for once.
In fact, 1600 words, on the dot. Crazy, no?
been a busy day... have just finished working on my car, and am sitting in my room, listening to the peaceful evening sounds—dad running the table saw, my two end sisters (oldest—katy—24, youngest—ann—17) playing a rambunctious game of tackle... badminton, Mom making potato salad in the half-redone kitchen, Fiona sitting in her car cleaning it out with the radio blaring that Sublime song that i haven’t heard in forever (‘lovin, is what i got...’)... whatever happened to my Sublime CD? I had two albums... ah well.
read more to hear about my day... not whining, for once...
This morning we replaced the cabinets above the counter near the stove, and above the refrigerator. My task ended up being to wash all the grimy dishes that came out of the cabinets we were replacing—a few were clean, because Mom uses them, but many were covered in greasy dust from being above the oven for years and never being touched. I found some fascinating treasuresup there, including a set of candlesticks that I mistook initially for wood, until I noticed a small iridescent patch on one of them. Hmm, i thought, that must be some kind of artsy copper thing, until I turned them over. The undersides of the bases were silver. Holy shit, I realized: They were silver candlesticks, tarnished entirely black. Ann arrived home right then, and I handed them over to her, and she polished them. That’s her job, in the house. Self-imposed. There are many others, including sheet-folder and wall-washer, simply because nobody else can do them or will, and it’s deeply important to Ann that they get done.
So I spent about three hours washing dishes. It was pleasant, because dad was working in the kitchen too, and my sisters were bopping around doing various tasks, including mowing the lawn, which i’m not sorry to have missed out on (i got finished with the washing just as katy got finished with the last patch of lawn). I figured it was a good time to do the washing, while dad was working, because I was right there in case he needed me. Mostly he would need two of us at once to hold a cabinet so he could put the screws in perfectly straight. They’re not heavy, just awkward. Once he was putting up a cabinet wedged in a corner, and just Katy was holding it up, and he dropped the screw, and it went right down Katy’s bra. That caused much hilarity.
When I came down first thing, like nine a.m., we were listening to katy’s cd of alan jackson (?), some country dude. it was the only cd she had with her. i brought mine down, and we listened to Gillian Welch, Roger Cline (and the peacemakers, and the refreshments), Steve Earle, Mermaid Avenue Vol. I, and a little Ryan Adams. Dad liked Gillian Welch; he used to hear music a bit like that on the radio late at night when his brother tuned it to WWVA, Wild Something West Virginia, an old AM station that would bounce off the clouds and come in in Bayside Queens on cloudy summer nights—atmospheric transference or something like that. His brother was into finding weird things like that; Dad just listened when it entertained him.
It’s too bad I never knew Uncle Brian; he sounds interesting. But his wife won’t let him talk to his family. His daughter Jessie lives up here now, and she’s a lot of fun—she comes to our family ‘do’s quite often now, things like Thanksgiving and New Year’s when she’s not home with her mother’s family. I never knew her mother; Brian and Marie divorced like a decade or more ago. Dad remembers her as being a terribly immature daddy’s little boy, and an alcoholic to boot. Jessie agrees, but says after the divorce she started going to AA, and she met and married a fellow member of AA, and has totally turned her life around. Most recently she’s gotten onto the Internet (though it terrifies her, and she’s apparently quite funny about it) and is e-mailing people; she sent me a mail and I never finished my reply. I’d feel worse if i’d seen her even once since I was four... ;p It’s very cute though, she and Jessie have identical e-mail addresses except Jessie’s has her birth year—77—on the end, and Marie’s has her birth year—53—on the end.
So anyhow. There should be some relatives here for My Party this weekend, which isn’t really my party—it’s really because katy’s home, an excuse to get everyone in the world that we know together. almost none of my friends can come—last count was three, and while those three are certainly greatly appreciated, that doesn’t make it a party for me; katy has like twelve friends coming. Ah well, not that I care; for the moment, this is plenty, and when (when!) I get my glamorous apartment and my fabulous job (should those two adjectives be reversed? not sure...) I’ll have a massive party for everyone I know and we’ll have a two-day bender and do everything that one has to do to christen a new apartment and gain it good living karma. I’ll shoot for Labor Day weekend, to give myself some time to settle in. (really! it could happen! In fact, it must, because the garage has no heat.)
i think the next phase of my job search is to follow mom’s suggestion (crazy as that sounds) and look at universities. find one i’d like to become a student at, and then look into employment opportunities there.
only problem? I have no fucking clue how to go about finding a university. I totally blew the process of finding one for undergrad, and ended up at the first place that took me. As for grad school... well, i know what I want to do, but I don’t know what they call what I want to do. Honestly I have no idea. I’m not even sure I’ve come up with a good name for it.
Anyhow. I should start that. Maybe I will tonight.
See, having done something makes me feel more useful. Oh, I never finished saying what I’d done all day—after the cabinets and dishwashing and a bit of aimless puttering, Dad and I changed the oil in my car, which was entertaining. I’d tried to before but I couldn’t find the damn nut to loosen under the oil pan. My problem is that my arms are shorter than dad’s, and I can’t really fit my chest under my car when it’s not jacked up. I lie on my back and I can fit my head under the car, and my shoulder, but then my boobs sort of go squish and I’m a bit stuck, and it’s terribly claustrophobic. I could probably squish them and get under the car, but I’d get really really filthy, and probably not be able to really breathe, and that wouldn’t be pleasant.
Anyhow, it’s just as well dad was there, because last time i got my oil changed it was midwinter and i went to delta sonic because that was easier, and they screwed the filter on so tight it broke dad’s filter-loosener-wrench when we tried to get it off. In fact, it broke both of his filter-loosener-wrenchy-thingies. It was ludicrous. Also, when they’d rotated my tires when I got the car inspected, they’d screwed the lug-nuts on so tight that I needed the eighteen-inch breaker bar to get them off. Mind you, I was standing on the breaker bar. And bouncing. Standing on the END of the breaker bar. And bouncing. I weigh, I might mention, 184 pounds, with clothing on, as the doctor’s office decreed as of one week and two days ago. Dad estimated I was applying about 350 foot-pounds of pressure to the lug-nuts. It took some of them about thirty seconds of me bouncing to loosen them.
Now tell me, why would you put the lugnuts on that tight? Imagine you’ve got a flat, in the middle of nowhere. Maybe you’re a small woman, with wailing children. It’s pouring rain, getting dark, and you’re miles from help. And your lugnuts are welded to the studs. What the hell is the point? Dad’s always insisted on hand-tightening those things, and has never had a wheel fall off. He can always get the wheel off when he needs to. The little woman in the middle of nowhere, well she’s just fucked because the factory guys just used their ginormous electric spinner thingies to screw those puppies on there so tight they stretch the studs; those wheels are never coming off...
So think about it next time you get your tires rotated: can you get those lugnuts off with the tool you have in your car? Hmmm.... food for thought.
So my oil is changed and the grease fittings on my front wheels lubricated, and then I washed my car. I got grease all over my arms and legs, and face, and dirt where I kept pulling my too-low-cut shirt up so my bra wouldn’t show in front, and dirt where I kept pulling my little yellow shorts back down where they were supposed to be. Apparently I’m quite a sight, though I don’t mind...
Anyhow, I’m sleepy, so i’d better go socialize with the family before I pass out.
Just thought I’d write a good long update for once.
In fact, 1600 words, on the dot. Crazy, no?
