Gateway to Hell

Sunday, August 8, 2010

Talk about falling off the face of the blogging earth.  Life has not stopped in the last five months.  I started drafting an entry in March, and got a whole three sentences into it.  I've lost the spirit of the original post I started, but I should probably fill in the gap.This will no doubt be a ridiculously long post.

I'm now sure that I have evidence of the universe conspiring against me.  Wasn't I just embarking on a nice little project in the hallway?  I had gotten so far with the ceiling, nothing could stop me now, right?

Yeah, right....

I will now account the troubled relationship with, and the rise of, my arch nemesis, the front door.  First off, the front entry consisted of two paneled solid wood doors.

The interior side was stained while the exterior was painted a lovely shade of brown like the rest of the trim.

When we first moved in, I thought it would be really smart to weatherproof the doors, so I set about replacing the door shoes and gluing foam around the perimeter.  Well, when I took off the dummy door shoe, the entire bottom three inches came with it.  The culprit was some significant wood rot.  Like a guilty child that has just snapped off the statue's finger, I hurriedly glued it back together and put on a new shoe.  The new shoes didn't do a great job of keeping out the drafts, and I was forced to sew rice socks.  I used a spiffy tribal batik for the cover.  I later upgraded to draft guards.
The next irritation came when I tried to get the dummy door open.  The top latch wouldn't budge.  Stuck latch?  Grab some WD-40!  Result?  The latch became so loose that it wouldn't stay up.  For the last three years, I've been jamming tape, etc. into the opening to try and keep the latch in place.  Not much luck in that endeavor. 
Yet another sign of the imminent demise of the doors was when I discovered I could actually see daylight through one of the panels.  I attempted to cover the crack with wood putty, but it just dried and split right over the original crack.  The dummy door was now being held together, officially, with glue, putty, and tape.

After a while, we started having problems with the live door.  The key kept sticking in the lock.  One day, I was unlocking the door and the whole lock mechanism came out with the key.  Springs and little metal pellets spewed everywhere.  Good thing I'm really familiar with my local ACE Hardware Store. 
After that little episode., the handleset started sticking.  To get in, we would have to body slam the door.  After a year of putting everything down to manhandle the door, I finally googled how to fix the handle.  It took five seconds to clean out the mechanism with my good ol' standby, WD-40.  I did, however, order a new handleset as a backup.  Talk about foreshadowing.  The final straw came when the hubby slammed the door a little too hard.  Here's how I know the universe is plotting - it was two weeks after I started on the hallway.  All of that body slamming had apparently weakened the dummy door.  An entire chunk came off the interior.  
Now the entire structure of the dummy door was compromised.  The mechanism holding the bottom latch of the door had nothing to hold on to.  Anyone couldwalk up and kick in the doors.  My solution?  A glob of molding compound and brown duct tape.
Keeping a door held together with duct tape is kind of the last straw. 

I had no intention of replacing the door for at least five years.  I can only deduce that this is all part of some plot by the universe to test my patience, keep me from finishing my other projects, and continue the cycle of house poverty.  Next step is to resign to the obvious and buy new doors.
The upside was that I could finally buy some energy efficient doors and get rid of the draft.  Fiberglass, here we go!  I went with some doors that didn't come prestained/painted, so yes, more work for me.  Three weeks after ordering the doors, they were in!  Anyone see anything missing?  Yes, that's right, the dummy door didn't get ordered with the holes for the handleset precut.  Apparently, the Kwikset rep mis-represented to the Lowe's door guy how the dummy set gets installed.  I had to wait yet another month for someone to come out and drill a hole and install that hardware.  On the upside, it gave me ample time to stain and paint without any obstructions.

 I'm so burnt out writing about these ridiculous front doors.  Staining took a whole weekend.  We ended up missing the crab feed - I have never been to one and bought tickets for the school's fundraiser.  It took another two weeks to primer and fully paint the inside of the doors.  I'm very proud of the end results.  So, in the end, the curse turned into a bit of a blessing.


Lack of Stamina

Monday, February 22, 2010

The bug up my butt seems to have fallen asleep. I was on quite the tear of activity the previous few weekends, but all of a sudden, all of my projects have come to a grinding halt. The evidence is sitting by the front door - a crate of tools and accessories. Did I really need electrical tape in every color? The molding, which I painted last weekend, spent the whole week lounging on the back patio. For reasons unknown to me, the dear hubby stashed the light fixture trims in the hall closet. I would have never found them if I wasn't looking for the children's Mucinex. The hall ceiling has not been sanded and respackled as I had hoped.


As it happens, I have a valid excuse. Everyone in my house has been sick. I caught a cold from my son. The petri dish came back from a visit with the grand parents with yet another cold which turned into a nasty cough, and, as I discovered in my lovely visit to urgent care on Saturday afternoon, a full blown ear infection. My mother managed to catch the little guy's cold, which has turned into bronchitis for her. My husband has also been taken down and will probably be diagnosed with his own case of bronchitis today. No one with bronchitis wants to breathe in spackle dust. Not to mention, I ran out of clothes to get dirty in.

Even though my motherly and spousal duties required that I be somewhat present and participating this weekend, I did manage to squeeze in a few projects to keep things moving.

Since my sixteen year old stepdaughter was visiting for the weekend, I decided to enlist her in a quick project. She has turned into quite the surly teen, and spends her visits either sleeping or texting morosely from the couch. Every now and then, we see a glimmer of the girl we used to know and love when she plays with her little brother. That little boy LOVES his big sister. She perked up when I asked for her help, and I didn't have to ask twice. The five year old was adamant about being Mommy's Little Helper (MLH) too.

I had brought the molding into the house on Thursday. By Saturday, I felt that it had acclimated back to an indoor environment, so I dragged it back out to the garage to cut. Since the molding is of the smaller, more casual variety, I decided to go with a full blown compound miter cut and skipped the coping method. Of course, it has been so long since I used the saw that I spent thirty minutes re-teaching myself. The teen helped me measure, and I cut everything down to size and dragged it all back in. By the third trip back to the saw, I was able to get everything to fit. I rolled in the ginormous air compressor and loaded up the finish nailer. I had the teen be the dead man holding up part of the molding – I even made her a propping stick with a towel on the end so she wouldn’t scratch anything, and MLH got to hold it when she wasn’t. His big role was closing the door behind me when I ran back out to the garage to re-cut. I promised MLH that when he was grown up, he could play with Mommy’s tools. Did I mention where the hubby was? Oh yeah…cooking dinner. I announced that the women had successfully put up the molding, and he asked when he could have his testicles back. I promised him that MLH would be able to cook AND use power tools, and therefore, be the redeemer of a blended gender role family.

Sunday, I mustered some more energy, sunk the nails and filled the holes and joints. Sadly, I discovered that I did not have any white calk or glazing compound. I don’t know how that’s possible since I have just about every other substance. Oh well, back to the local hardware store tonight and then painting time. All that will be left is hanging the curtain rod and tying back the drapes. Next time, I will let the teen know that she is responsible for making the bed. Rule of parenting a teen: If you want them to do something, you have to spell it out for them. The idea never comes to them on its own.

In addition to the molding, I was able to do five loads of laundry, sort my sock drawers, sign up the kid for drum lessons, pay the bills, and reformat my PC and reinstall software. Somewhere in the next three days, on top of the normal work schedule, I have to watch a 13 hour video (Exam Cram) as part of my studying for Friday’s real estate license exam. I have put it off long enough. Cross your fingers that I remember all this useless information.  If it goes well, I will be making cheesecake.

Breathing paint fumes

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

I have been on a bit of a tear the last few weeks.  To understand my level of accomplishment, the back story is totally necessary.  
I decided, back in November and about two weeks after putting poor little Fred to sleep, that it was a perfect opportunity to replace all the interior doors.  I swear the kitty door into the laundry room is haunted.  It's constantly setting off the hubby's ghost meter.  I keep hearing the departed cat scratching away when I'm home alone.
All the doors are original to the house.  They are that horrible dark plywood from the 1970's.  Every door has a collection of scratches and holes from the previous owner, her daughters, and their pets.  I have covered some of the holes with contact paper in an almost perfectly matching wood veneer.  Every door has a different door knob.  The laundry room door handle keeps falling off, and I couldn't pry it off to replace it. 
I had a very nice handy man come out and measure, and he delivered the doors the first week of December.  I ordered all matching door knobs and hinges on Ebay and saved myself a ton of money.  I decided to save some additional money and paint the doors myself.  I bought all of the necessary accessories (paint, drop cloth, and L-bar) and was poised to begin painting in earnest.  I have an industrial sized air compressor and an HVLP gun which I bought to paint the kitchen doors four years ago.  I have been waiting for an opportunity to use my gun again.
Needless to say, it is now Valentine's Day, and the doors are sitting, as yet untouched, in the garage.  The delay?  All those other projects on the list.

Project Number 1:  Finish the guest room.  The poor guest room.  I had managed to scrape the popcorn off the ceiling and paint three of the walls a buttercream yellow, but that was almost two years ago.  Two weeks ago, I haphazardly patched the ceiling, busted out the compressor and texture hopper (yeah, I bought one of those too), and refinished the ceiling.  I should have spent more time patching.  There is nothing worse than being able to see every imperfection.  I moved all the furniture and painted that fourth wall an interesting golden brown.  It's called Bread Basket.  I finally dug out the bedframe, reupholstered the headboard with an espresso pleather, and bought new bedding.  All that is left is putting up the molding, touching up the ceiling, and hanging the curtain rod.  I already hung up some art, and I'm going to wait on ordering the bifold mirrored doors.  They're expensive and not a priority.  I painted the molding, and will probably put it up tomorrow.  I think I'm going to try using a coping method instead of my compound miter saw, but I'm not committed to it just yet.
Project Number 2:  The hallway.  We've had big plans for the hallway.  It is to be a gallery of our family unity and splendor.  I was always jealous of my friends whose parents covered the walls with monuments to missing teeth, soccer league championships, and graduations.  My parents are minimalists.  Even today, the only pictures up are one of my son, one of my brother, his wedding photo, me alone, and my wedding photo.  The good stuff is taped to the computer monitors in their office where guests don't go.  Anyway, the hallway is where the majority of the new doors will be.  Wouldn't it be nice if the doors are framed by nicely painted walls and well placed photos?  Two weeks ago, I scraped the popcorn off the ceiling.  Last weekend, I tackled the lights.
We have been blessed with square recessed lights circa 1972.  Our first month in the house, I had to call the fire department at 1AM because we kept smelling smoke.  It turned out to be one of the hall lights overheating due to loose wires.  Not only are they fire hazards, but they also have big gaping openings that vent all the heat from the house right into the attic.  Not very energy efficient.  My handyman told me that replacing them was a project I could handle on my own.  I decided to see if I could pull it off.  What it took?  The purchase of: three recessed cans, trim, wire nuts, wire clamps,  lightbulbs (picking out the right bulbs took 30 minutes because I had to talk up the Home Depot guy), a small drywall board, drywall saw, drywall screws, drywall tape, joint compound, and then I had to run out and buy heavy duty wire cutters.  I also had some scrap wood strips.
The first step was to shut off the power and finally climb into the attic.  I had vowed that I would avoid the attic at all costs, but it was time to be de-virginized.  My aversion to the attic stems from the previous year's battle with an infestation of Norwegian rats.  Black Plague, anyone?  I wasn't going to take any chances that the pesky rodents may have been napping in the insulation, so I donned a ski mask, safety goggles, dust mask, and gloves.  I only wish I had invested in that pink tool belt.  Lugging a lamp, flashlight, pliers, hammer, screwdriver, cell phone and other oddities was rather precarious as I tried to balance along the 2x4 beams.  Why did I have to go into the attic?  To detach the existing lights.  Duh!  The dang things weren't nailed in, they were stapled in with inch long industrial staples.  It took me over an hour to pry them loose.  Then it was just a matter clipping the wires off of the old fixtures.
Next step, cutting the drywall to patch the squares.  Tedious process to get them to fit even with drawing templates first.  Cutting the circles was the easiest part.  Then there was the securing of the patches with scrap wood.  Each hole took an hour to cut, fit, secure and patch.  The tape and compound was probably the most fun, but it's a multi-phased process, and I'm still working on smoothing everything out.
Final step, connecting the replacement lights.  Unfortunately, the existing wires didn't provide enough slack to reconnect the new lights from below, so back to the attic I went.  Another hour passed of squatting on 2x4s, sweating in my ski mask, and desperately trying to strip and twist the copper wires.  I think I neglected to mention that the lights are connected on a three way switch which allows you to turn the lights on and off at either end of the hall.  Twisting that many copper wires together was a challenge.  I actually ran out of time, and had to run to pick up my son from daycare.  I ran into his daycare two minutes before they closed covered in cobwebs and sweating.  The next morning, I was back up in the attic.  I re-twisted and taped up the bulkier lines to make sure everything was well connected.  Back down in the hall, I screwed in a light bulb and flipped the switch.  Nothing happened.  My parents were a little concerned that I might cause an electrical fire, so I promised that I would call my handyman.  I was positive I had done everything correctly, so I couldn't understand why the lights still weren't on.  A few days later, the handyman climbed into my attic with his meter.  At the first light, he called down for me to flip the switch and turn on the lights.  I could hear his meter start beeping away.  Okay, that means I connected everything correctly.  So why no lights?  From above, Mr.Handy asked, "Did you check your bulbs?"  Really?  I ran to test the bulbs.  They worked just fine in the kitchen fixture.  I ran back to the hallway, climbed my step stool and touched my finger to the bulb I had put in previously.  It blinked to life.  Yeah, that's right, I didn't screw it in all the way.  Mr. Handy climbed out of my attic, I paid him for his troubles, and I stared at my lovely new recessed lights glowing brightly in the hallway.
I've been sick since Mr. Handy's visit, but I did manage to apply a fresh coating of joint compound after sanding everything down.  Mr. Handy warned me that if I can't get it perfectly smooth, I should seriously consider apply a texture to the ceiling.  After my unsatisfactory results of the guest room ceiling, I will definitely be taking his advice.  More construction details to come.

Coveting my Foreman

Sunday, January 24, 2010

I’m not much of a cook. In truth, I think I cook about as well as I knit. As long as I have clear instructions to follow, I can typically generate the dish attempted. My plating skills leave much to be desired, but that’s an art form unto itself.
My cooking is somewhat limited by the palate of my household. Hubby has several requirements: no onions, minimal garlic, no fish (unless we’re talking Gordon’s fish sticks), no sour cream, and a host of other random limitations regarding texture, complexity, and ingredients. I should mention that bell peppers and eggplant are on the barred list. My limitations are compounded by a child that has taken to eating the same lunch every day (cheese on sourdough with mayo) and has decreased his veggie intake to nearly zero portions. A sane person can only eat so much pasta with red sauce or white sauce.  I love macaroni & cheese as much as the next soul, but enough is enough.

It's a poor craftsman that blames his tools, but sometimes I wonder if my lack of cooking ability is in any way connected to what I actually have to work with.  We have new appliances (purchased when we moved into the house 4 years ago), but the stove is electric.  I'm definitely a bigger fan of gas stoves, though having a smooth glass top burner is much easier to clean.  The real bane of my existence is the oven.  Every time I make a lasagna or a chicken pot pie, the juices overflow and create havoc.  This happens so often that I now have a routine.  I prep my kitchen with some strategically placed fans, and when the smoke begins to billow, I close off the kitchen from the rest of the house, open up the slider and the windows, and set the fans to HI.


Early on, I tried to block the drips.  I laid a sheet of foil on the bottom of the oven as a barrier.  To my chagrin, the foil melted to the bottom of the oven.  Who knew self cleaning ovens were so much trouble?  On another occasion, I wrapped the bottom of my pie dish with foil, hoping it would catch the overflow.  Result:  The bottom of my chicken pot pie crust didn't cook.  Gross. 

The only appliance that has never failed me is my trusty Foreman Grill.  I stole my parents' grill years ago when my father abandoned it for a sandwich maker.  The grill is a tiny little thing and can barely handle two chicken breasts.  The non-stick coating had long since worn off,  and I needed more capacity.  Also, it wouldn't hurt if the gadget did more than grill.  What about a waffle maker, or even a griddler? 
So, this Xmas, I started researching all-in-one presses.  I was dazzled by the Cuisinart Griddler - Costco was carrying one for the holidays and there was even a coupon.  I had read that the model Costco offered tended to get scorching hot on top, so I looked into the next up model.  The price difference was around $50, but I figured the holiday discounts would be in my favor.  Alas, I was wrong and missed my window.  In any case, my hubby mentioned that he had seen some bad reviews on both models, so I started looking at other brands. 

The obvious occurred to me.  If I'm replacing my Foreman Grill, why not replace it with another Foreman Grill?  I zeroed in on the GRP90WGR Next Grilleration with 5 Removable Plates.  Sadly, it only comes in red.
I kicked the idea around for over a week, finally made the ultimate commitment on Amazon and hit the Place Order button.

My first major meal consisted of 4 steaks and zucchini and asparagus spears.  We ate the leftovers for three days.  It came out better than my BBQ, faster, and easier cleanup.  Pork chops only take 10 minutes.  This weekend, I made waffles.  I think this week I'll get some pizza dough at Trader Joe's and test out the deep dish pizza recipe.  

I'm definitely in love with my new Foreman.  Of all the things I've thrown my money away on, the Foreman Grill is already proving to be a worthy investment.  I'm hoping this is not just a first flush of appliance lust but the beginning of a long lasting relationship.

Dismembered Bodies

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

A few months ago, I bought Custom Knits by Wendy Bernard, a book about knitting items that actually fit your body. I have only glanced through it, but the concept is rather earth shaking for where I am as a knitter. I have knit one sweater for myself, and the fit is horrible. The picture in the book, Stitch 'N Bitch, is very flattering on the model. On me, it’s just a giant fuzzy box. I thought I had done something wrong, but it’s actually a very natural phenomenon. The pattern is a tunic sweater with no side shaping. A more advanced knitter would intuitively understand that for a project to have a shape, you need to knit the shape into it. Custom Knits actually discusses altering patterns to make them more flattering and how to read patterns without getting duped by the model shot.

For fear of repeating my disappointment, I have been sticking to accessories (hats, gloves, scarves, and slippers), and I knit objects following patterns in the strictest sense. Even yarn substitutions are made with much trepidation. I typically will scour Ravelry to see what other people used to verify that a yarn is suitable for a given project. I’ve had one horrible experience where I substituted a yarn for a project (the yarn was recommended by a store employee as suitable for the gauge) and the tank ended up being twice as wide as it should have been. What did that experience teach me? Always check your gauge. Do not knit 90% of the project before doing it, either. This project was a special case because it was all in a ribbed pattern, and it was just really hard to figure out. I kept trying to stretch the finished part over my body, but without pinning it to myself, how could I really tell. Maybe if I had a dress form or even a mannequin, I could have checked the sizing sooner.

I spent a day looking at dress forms on the internet. Starting at $100, I could get a nice Singer adjustable dress form. They come in different colors and seem pleasing to the eye with their uniform shape and fabric. I could totally use it as a decorative piece, and it wouldn’t be an eyesore if left out. My hoarding instinct keeps nagging me that I NEED a dress form.

A much cheaper alternative is the make-your-own variety. For the price of a roll of duct tape and a disposable t-shirt, you can make a mold of yourself.  When all is said and done, making a mold of my body is definitely the more accurate approach. The mold will capture the true placement of the waistline and bust instead of the estimate a generic dress form will give you, even an adjustable one. The downside? Do I really want to stare at my body wrapped in duct tape and mounted on a pole. That is just so Silence of Lambs.


Next thing you know, I’ll be dancing around in a kimono to Goodbye Horses and imagining myself in my special suit. The only place I can keep it is the guest room where it will surely creep out anyone spending the night. Plus, I lose the aesthetic of having something to model my FOs for photo ops. And, I’m still itching to buy something.

An alternative object d’art would be a mannequin. The hubby and I have always wanted one. We used to decorate our old apartment with heads wearing the multitude of wigs we collected over the years. When the baby experiment began, we decluttered and donated the heads to my stepson. I’ve since stolen one back for hat making purposes. Heads are good, but a full mannequin would fulfill one of those muddled childhood fantasies I still carry around with me. When I was thirteen, I saw Lady Beware with Diane Lane about a window dresser that lives in a loft and gets stalked. From then on, I wanted to live in a converted warehouse and decorate my place with mannequins. The warehouse dreams have been squashed by the loft trend. It’s just not cool anymore if everyone is doing it. Besides, I wanted to have 10,000 SF so I could drive my car into it. Not realistic these days.


At least the mannequin idea is still available to me. I can dress it, pose it, take pictures of my FOs and maybe even freak out my elderly neighbors by placing it in the window to stare back at them. If I can find a cheap source of parts, maybe I can collect a large enough stack to make a gruesome display for next Halloween.

So today, I will begin my search of a reasonably priced mannequin in earnest.  Updates to follow.

Anthropologie Inspired Cable Knit Ascot

Saturday, January 9, 2010


I do not shop at Anthropologie. I've never even been in a store, though I'm within 20 miles of one. I think I might be a little intimidated by how cool and artsy everything looks. Or maybe it's too young looking. I don't know. The price tag automatically stops me from entering. But, I can still shop from afar by visiting the online catalog. On one of my window shopping trips across the internet, I spent some time looking through their knit offerings. Lots of sweater coats - too complex to deconstruct based on an online picture - and several scarves. One scarf in particular jumped out at me. The ascot looked like something I might be able to knit. I saved a picture from the catalog. Good thing too because they have since sold out.

I spent quite a bit of time looking for possible pattern matches, but nothing exact appeared. Through trial and error, I was able to piece together my own pattern. This is the first time I have tried to create a pattern of my own. I'm good at following other people's directions, but this is completely new territory.

I did make one change from the original. I did the whole thing in garter stitch instead of making the bow pinch in a rib pattern. I included instructions for both options. Click on the link below.

Anthropologie Inspired Cable Knit Ascot

Feel free to let me know if something doesn't make sense. Some of the pattern was written after the fact. I hope I didn't forget anything.

I think I will try this one again in a medium gray color when I have some time.

On a side note, the whole reason I created this blog was so that I could add this pattern to Ravelry. Just before finishing my upload, I did another search and found that someone else had the same idea, and had deconstructed their own version of the pattern. My only comfort is that the knitter used a worsted weight yarn and the cable pattern is completely different. So I can still say my pattern is original.

A little background

Writing about myself is surprisingly difficult. I enjoy talking about myself well enough, but this is a little weird. Who is my audience? What tantalizing bit of personal information would some random stranger on the internet find interesting? I'm really good at making lists, so I'll just list some random facts about myself. These will be in no particular order of importance.

  • I'm just past the mid-point of my thirties. Wow, I remember my mother at this age. I've even started dressing like her back then.
  • I'm married. We were married in 2001, the day before 9/11. It was at City Hall in front of our parents and a few friends. No one knew about it. So we had a second wedding six months later for the rest of the family and friends. So which anniversary do we celebrate? We manage to forget both equally.
  • Kids. I have two stepkids. They live with their mom fairly close to us. They stop in from time to time. I have a little rugrat of my very own as well. He's an experiment that I think is wise not to repeat. He was hatched in 2004. I'm a great stepmom, but full-time motherhood is outside of the scope of my skill set. I'm sure I will have stories about him.
  • I work full-time. I'm in commercial real estate. I won't be discussing work here.
  • I have a house. I bought a fixer upper at the top of the market. It is my albatross. I will definitely be discussing my home improvement nightmares and subsequent financial woes here.
  • I'm a hobby whore. I pick up hobbies, invest in the supplies, hoard actually, and abandon them systematically. I have 50 pounds of scrapbooking paper. I haven't scrapbooked since 2004. I just don't have the time. But one day, I will get to catch up. I can sort of sew on a sewing machine. I can put stuff together when I need it.
  • I used to paint. I really want to start again, but the to-do list is so big that I can't seem to get to it. Maybe I'll post some pictures of my favorite projects. I just need some anonymous encouragement. I would like to eventually have a show - if I can get enough pieces finished. I haven't finished one since 2004.
  • I'm a knitter. I've been knitting for a few years. I got back into it in 2009 as part of a New Year's resolution to finish some of my projects that were mothballed. The knitting is what brought me here, and I'm sure I'll be talking about it in greater detail later.
  • I love food. I'm not a good cook. I try though. I wish my hubby and son were more open to my experiments. I get tired of spaghetti and grilled cheese sandwiches.
  • I don't drink. I did in my twenties but the pregnancy broke me of the habit and I don't really miss it. I probably have a cocktail once a month.
  • I miss smoking. I have asthma and I know better. But, every now and then I will still sneak a cigarette. Us bad girls have to have our vices.
  • I miss shopping. I used to be pretty good at it. Lack of money and a figure worth dressing has led to a decline. I'm not fat, but I'm not tone either. No one's fault but my own. The exercise equipment is sitting and waiting patiently for me in the garage.
  • Style-wise, I'm a chameleon. I think I have a dark soul, so I lean toward the goth and alternative, at least in my head. I'll wear what is appropriate for my age, where I live, and what I do for a living, but I secretly wish I didn't. I have learned to conform, but I'm not happy about it.
  • I watch way too much TV. Couch potato extraordinaire.
  • I love to read. I have no time or energy to actually read, so I have found a new love - audiobooks. I listen to at least one book a week. I have a 30 minute commute each way, so I listen while I drive. I also plug in when I'm doing stuff around the house. Multi-tasking.

I think I'll add more as I go along and expand on some of the points above. The reality is this whole blog will be about me in one way or another. Apparently, the vanity of Facebook isn't enough to hold me.

 
My sweater: unraveled - by Templates para novo blogger