Frank had to take the toilet tank off so I can paint behind the toilet. Believe me, there is only 1 inch of space behind it. I took a picture because I know Bikermommy is not going to believe that I couldn’t have painted it without taking it off. Short of raising my non-existent magic wand and shouting “Reducto!” at the toilet, this was the only option.

Anyway, I suggested that Frank prep the area for water spillage, because even though the tank was drained as much as possible, there would be water all over the floor if he didn’t prepare.

FRANK J.: There’s not much water left in the tank.
SARAHK: You still need to have something there.
FRANK J.: It’ll be fine. There’s not that much water.
SARAHK:

So I went back to my taping, and after a couple of minutes, the first bolt came off the bottom of the toilet tank.

FRANK J.: Uh, I need a towel!
SARAHK:

I just jogged to the hall closet and got a big old towel. I didn’t even smirk. Of course, I smirk now as I blog this, but I kept a straight face, handed him his towel, and started to walk away. But then I saw him toss the towel down on the floor, spread it out, and stand on it to produce maximum floor-to-towel transfer. Disgusting. Did I mention he was wearing socks? No shoes?

SARAHK: Your socks are going to get wet.
FRANK J. [pretending he planned this and looking me straight in the face and grinning]: Yes, I know.
SARAHK: Wet with toilet water.

Ew. I get that it’s water that hasn’t gone into the toilet bowl, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s one mechanism and one giant bacteria farm. All I could think of was how I wanted to throw some rubbing alcohol at his feet. At his whole self.

By the way, he did take off the second bolt as I continued my taping (”I need another towel”, she remembers smugly), and the toilet tank went onto the plastic sheeting on the floor, this one an insistence rather than a suggestion. “You’re going to need a place to put that when you get it off. You should plan for that in advance.”

Just now I was walking through the livingroom to the kitchen. Because everyone makes dinner at 9 p.m. Mind you, it’s been a good half hour since he took off the toilet tank.

FRANK J.: My socks are wet.
SARAHK:
SARAHK:
SARAHK: You are wearing toilet water on your feet! You are so gross!
FRANK J. [grinning and taking off his socks, putting them in the laundry room]: It’s water that never goes in the toilet bowl. It’s clean water.
SARAHK: It’s toilet water. Yuck.

He walked through our bedroom, livingroom, kitchen, entryway in his toilet water socks. I’m going to have germ-farm nightmares tonight. And now that I think on it, those feet will touch me in bed tonight.

SARAHK: You have to wash your feet before you touch me in bed tonight.
FRANK J.: Ok, fine.

This isn’t as easy as it looks.
I don’t a-spose you could-a speed things up?
If you’re in such a hurry, you could lower a rope or a tree branch or find something useful to do.
I could do that. I have some rope up here, but I do not think you would accept my help, since I am only waiting around to kill you.
That does put a damper on our relationship.

Yes, so the bathroom painting. Ugh. Slow going. But I am forever done with painting ceilings, that’s good. Never again. If ever I need a ceiling painted, I will hire a tall contractor. Ooh, but now that it’s done, Frank installed the new overhead light fixture, which is so much prettier than the ugly bottom-of-the-line one that was up there. It’s amazing what $30 will do for your lighting. It’s beautiful.

The baseboard crack is fixed, the holes in the wall are spackled, and I’ve pre-hung everything, all the new fixtures, new towel bars and rings, the new TP holder (we pried out the ugly ceramic things, and it turns out that they were yes, glued onto the wall, in case I haven’t told you already), the robe hook next to the shower, the wall art, and the new light fixture over the mirror. All the holes are in the wall, and yes, I had to do several of them more than once. Because I’m SarahK and an inept hanger.

The taping has begun, washing of walls and baseboards has begun.

I have not primed nor painted the walls, baseboards, and door of the bathroom.

Slow going.

The good news is that this bathroom is the most angular room of the house, and once I figure out how to get the highest corners primed and painted (I can’t be sloppy with the walls like with the ceiling, because my theory there was “yes, well, I’ll be priming the walls after this”, and I am not even going to touch up that wretched ceiling.), the other rooms will seem breezy. Right? Right?

I’m not taping off the ceiling before I paint the walls. I hope I don’t pay for that.

Y’all pray for SarahK.

Especially pray for the fact that I just started talking about myself in the third person. That is whack.

Update for my own condition tracking purposes…

My tooth pain is getting worse by the day.

I finally got an answer from Dr. Fresh Air’s office yesterday. Not his fault, just didn’t get the call back from his nurse after I called her. He had gotten the results from the colonoscopy but was still awaiting the pathology results on Monday, so the nurse was going to call me back when the doc got the pathology results, plus I gave her a question for the doc (is it ok to go ahead and take my vitamins while doing the gluten challenge? I’ve researched and can’t find the answer, so I defer to the one who went to school for such things since he’s not a giant pinkytoehead like Dr. Ego.). Anyway, she never called back. So I called again yesterday, because it’s been two weeks (only? seems like longer…) since the colonoscopy. Today they said the colonoscopy was normal (other than my inability to shut up under anaesthesia and my complete ability under same anaesthesia to offend the “I never said I was a liberal” nurse–they didn’t say that, I just remember that), fantastic news about the normalcy. Biopsies were normal, pathology normal. Hooray! Confirmation. Closer to celiac diagnosis.

The nurse who looked up my chart today told me that the doctor’s notes said that I should have an endoscopy in 3 months. That’s already scheduled, it’s why I’m so miserable.

The endoscopy is supposed to be in the June-teens, but if we are leaving Florida before the June-teens, I’m going to call Dr. Fresh Air and ask if he will please please pretty please do the biopsy in May instead, which will give us eight weeks on a gluten challenge, which is, eh, not as good as twelve weeks (and of course I mean good for flattening my villi and getting a good positive biopsy, not good for my health or mental stability), but still pretty decent. And considering the lack of motility in my roughly twenty-two feet of small intestine these days because i’ve been oh so good at eating the requisite arbitrary equivalent of four slices of bread every day (and more because I don’t want to fail my test and because oh my yippee, I can eat anything in the world right now with reckless abandon for the last time ever in my life! I’m embracing that even though it makes me feel like someone’s hitting me with a bus after every meal!), holy mildew around the inside of the toilet, Batman, eight weeks is probably plenty. If eight weeks isn’t enough for me, maybe Dr. Fresh Air, since he’s young and hip, will consider the young and hip procedure of letting me swallow a pill-sized camera so we can watch it travel the length of my digestive tract for eight hours. Of course, I’d probably talk throughout the eight hours (excruciating for the poor doctor, who is Indian and would probably be badgered for his mother’s or wife’s chicken tikka masala recipe for eight long hours) and tick off Linda the not-liberal nurse. Actually, I will request she not be involved in my future procedures at this particular hospital, lest I wake up to hostility and anger from nurses who do not understand that stating one’s political beliefs while under anaesthesia should be met with greater understanding than, say, choosing to get drunk and then stating the same political beliefs or yelling that the Jews are responsible for all the wars in the world.

WARNING: ASIDE! I get that it’s uncooth to discuss politics and religion at dinner without the kid gloves on or without everyone being happily on the same page and ok with discussing the sensitive issues, but in a colonoscopy under anaesthesia? How the heck am I supposed to control that? I chose to get all loose-lipped? I didn’t go on a drinking binge and then start spouting off what I think. Someone injected something in my veins under doctor’s orders, and I said, “Are y’all still going to take care of me, even though I’m an evil conservative?” I did not plan that. After that I started talking about how proud I am of Frank and his blog and how awesome he is, and I probably even quoted his stats to all in the surgery room. Poor hostile nurse. How offensive I was to her sensibilities. I still have more to say on this.

Anyway, the endoscopy is a different kind of procedure and isn’t done under the same kind of anaesthesia. Plus, there’s a tube down your throat, so you can’t talk. Happy doctors. Fine with me. Who knows, they probably have all my passwords and know the exact location of all of our guns after just one colonoscopy. I don’t know about the camera procedure, whether there is anaesthesia involved. I don’t care to experience that again.

What else. Did I mention my teeth? Wow, they hurt.

Oh yes. I’ve become addicted to Doritos. Fiery habanero, which are actually gluten-free, but they give me migraines, because even though the machines are twice-washed between batches, the same machines are used for the GF chips as are used for the non-GF chips at the Frito-Lay factory. And I think the only non-GF Doritos are the Nacho Cheese. I think all the other ones are listed as GF. But again, the cross-contamination is a problem for me. So I am chowing down until my endoscopy, after which I will quit them (for the most part).

Apparently, I can’t absorb anything except sugar, which I convert immediately to thigh fat.

TMI Alert: Papaya enzymes are THE BOMB for anyone with intestinal issues. I chew two of the “now” brand after every meal. Solid poo! WOW! Almost as amazing as those tomatoes-in-a-bag I keep seeing commercials for on Red Eye. It’s amazing. Since the colonoscopy, I’ve been alternating between… um… motility issues and my normal problems (un-solid poo), and after waiting to hear whether I can take my vitamins (they’ll call me Monday), I finally gave up and chewed two Thurs night with dinner, then two yesterday with lunch. Then two last night. And last night, my first solid poo since my colonoscopy. It’s that quick. A certain friend of mine with a different bowel disease (she knows who she is) put me on to the papaya enzymes, and the difference with them is amazing.

Next, I just might break down and try the other recent suggestion I got from my IBD friend. Maybe I’ll tell you about it someday. You probably are better off for not knowing. But we are all about the natural remedies. We hate bad side effects.

Oh, but I do need meds for now, especially for the nerve pain and the epilepsy. And the Keppra is good. It’s very good for the seizures. It started working so much better than the Topamax almost immediately, and so far no bad side effects. I was napping like mad at first, but that only lasted a couple of weeks.

The fatigue is huge. Not sleepy, but body is tired.

Nerve pain is bad most days.

I’m trying to get bladder infections every couple of weeks. That was common before I went GF, just in the months leading up to going GF. After I went GF, no more of that. Last night, my bladder was screaming so badly that I couldn’t get to sleep until around 4 a.m.

Maybe some of it will improve when I get the answer about the vitamins. I can load up on the B vitamins and vitamin A for the tooth pain and the bladder issues. I took a vitamin A and drank three bottles of water last night for my bladder, and I have no pain today.

And that’s the health update. Yes, my body hates gluten.

See? Some of the tainted cat food is poisoned by tainted wheat gluten from China. Gluten is evil.

ah yes, i did forget something yesterday. painting the baseboards, trim, doors. small matter, really. really. mmhmm.

here’s the thing. how many different colors of white can they possibly need? what ever happened to just “white”?

how do you pick a “white” color? i did grab the “white” that looked most like actual “white” when i picked out my browns the other day so i could hold them up against each other and show Frank and say, “but look, look how nice that will look together”, and Waverly calls that “Birch White”. yeah, it does actually remind me of a birch tree. so do i go with that and hope that whoever walks in the door is a nature lover who is actually ok with NOT being near that kind of nature, here in Florida? or do i just send Frank to Home Depot and tell him to grab “white” semi-gloss paint off the shelf?

it was not this hard the last time I painted a house. then again, i was something like 22, and we just painted right over the wallpaper like the previous owner had. i’m not quite as tacky as i was back in the day, and we want this house to sell sell sell. we want it to be fought for. we know it will be. but not until we get it looking the way we know it looks in SarahK’s brain.

one more question for the paint people out there… last time i primed walls, it was Kilz all the way. we primed Strawberry Pink walls and they became white and then i painted them a lovely sage wallpaper. and perhaps it’s because i made the mistake of buying Behr paint and primer… this primer doesn’t seem to be covering anything, and i’m actually having to take kaos’s advice (i hate taking useful advice) and wash the bathroom walls, because wow, grime. Frank says he always remembers primer being clear. i remember primer being Kilz and covering everthing. what say you?

oh, also? why is brown considered a “cool” color? when i think of browns and earthy colors, it makes me feel like i’m curled up in a warm blanket. all this time i’ve been calling that a warm color. why is that wrong?

A boy!

I’m about there. So… please keep popping in and leaving me comments, you know I live for comments… and I’ll try to pop in and blog occasionally. But um, our target date is getting so close, and… hyperventilation… fear of abandonment… breathe… yeah.

one day i’ll save up my pennies and hire a personal shopper so i don’t have to do it for myself. today i went to:
TJMaxx
Ross
BB&B
JoAnn
Pier 1
and finally Dockside Imports to find something for my large, tall bathroom wall so it doesn’t look bare and spare when we show it to prospective buyers. That’s after having already looked at Lowe’s, Home Depot, Target, and Walmart.

Oh, and I still can’t find a simple valance for the bathroom window. Why is it that all valances in Brevard County are sold in 72-inch widths? My bathroom window is 35.5 inches on the inside, so I don’t think I can make 72 inches work. And no offense to anyone who has them, but Roman shades just aren’t my thing.

I did find this wall art thingy at Dockside. I bought it before I could change my mind, then bought the 9 candles it needed for completion for $3 each at Target. I was still not sure until I got it home and held the wall thingy up against the painted ceiling. I think it’s going to be perfect. We’ll know tomorrow, because tomorrow we paint the bathroom walls and replace the bathroom light fixtures. Tonight we hang the wall art just so all the holes are already there, because there will be excess holes that will require spackle and texturing before we paint. No touchup painting; let’s just do it right the first time. So everything needs to be hung, drilled, caulked, spackled, plastered, patched, etc. before we paint.

Yes, this is the bathroom I was painting many months ago. Still only the ceiling is painted. And I decided it needs one more coat, so I’m doing that tonight.

I stopped at Lowe’s on the way home to pick up sandpaper and another Wagner Paintmate Plus so that Frank and I can both paint at the same time. I guess since Home Depot is so close to our house, we’re a little spoiled. We went there for a shower part a couple of weeks ago, and we looked lost, so a guy in plumbing asked if we needed help. We told him what part we were looking for, and he took us to the part, and when we told him we thought we knew what we were doing and kind of explained what we were doing, he told us why that was wrong and proceeded to explain what we needed to do and told us how to properly fix the shower. All this because we looked lost in the plumbing department.

Today at Lowe’s (and such is the case every time I’ve been at the Lowe’s in Melbourne, and I don’t remember how they are in Texas, but I’ve always noticed this at the Melbourne Lowe’s), I was looking for the sandpaper. I looked in the paint section and didn’t find it. There was a man in the paint section, and he saw me walk by him a couple of times, but he just stood there against the paint counter. Just leaning. Leaning. Maybe he was on a break. And I know I should have asked for help, but I’m like a man in that respect. I’ll find it myself unless someone does their job and asks the customer if they need help. I figure if he can’t be bothered to voluntarily help me, he is probably busy with something else, and I have feet and eyes and brains and can figure out where the stinking sandpaper is.

So I ambled to the tools. Lots of sandpaper, but this is all sandpaper that you put on power tools. No, I need the manual kind, and frankly, power tools scare me (not all of them, just the ones with gigantic blades), and I’d like to get out of this department, thank you. Several Lowe’s employees just looked at me in tools. And I was walking with my arms loaded, too. I hadn’t found the paint stick (they didn’t have a Wagner’s, and I know that Wagner’s works, because I have one, so I decided I’d get it at HD on the way home), but I had an extender thingy, paintbrushes not made of foam, and a corner painter that will screw onto the extender, exactly what I need for the one more coat of the ceiling. And I looked lost. On purpose, looked very lost. I hate looking lost. But I was so stinking tired and had been shopping for four dreadful hours and had had just about enough. Plus I could feel my food dragging through my small intestine. I can’t describe how that feels, it just feels like food dragging through your small intestine. And it was last night’s food, because it was around 5, and I’d not eaten anything all day. Irritable.

Ok, so up and down the front aisle I went, looking at all the signs. Nothing on the signs. Back to the tools. There was a shopper at the power-tools sandpaper with manual sandpaper in her arms. “Oh!” exclaimed I. “Where did you find the sandpaper?” She told me where to find it. “Thank you soooo much.” So I went back to paint. Well I couldn’t get my mind off my intestines and all the family news I got on my little shopping outing today, so I still couldn’t find it. I just would like some sandpaper, please. The nice Home Depot men would have already walked me to it, asked me what grit I needed, showed me the grit in each brand, and told me whether to sand the floor in clockwise or counterclockwise motions, Daniel-san. Finally I just went back to the paint counter where the Leaner was puttering around, doing nothing. “Excuse me,” I said very politely. He ignored me. Ignored! Oh, nuh-uh. You’re puttering and leaning, and my intestines lack motility. You will help me. “Excuse me,” I said very politely, more loudly. The Leaner (upper 50s, for those picturing the scene) looked up. “Yes?” Yes, you may help me. “Can you tell me where the sandpaper is?” Because I’m not sure you can. He looked annoyed, pointed, and told me I could find it all the way at the end of aisle 13.

I didn’t even find what I wanted. I mean, they had 220 grit sandpaper, but I found sanding blocks, and they had every single grit of sanding block except 220. So I got a 100 grit sanding block to make Frank’s work easier and decided I’d get the 220 when I picked up the paint stick at HD on the way home.

The HD experience was much better. I found everything right away (granted, I knew where exactly the sandpaper would be because of my Lowe’s experience) and went to self checkout, and the credit card girl who oversees in case there is any trouble just walked right over to my register as I was arriving and rang me up without my asking, much faster than I would have, because she didn’t have anything to do at the time. She didn’t just lean against her counter. Then when I set off the alarms as I walked out of the store (she’d forgotten to de-magnetize the paint stick, or whatever it is they do when they rub it against that pad on the counter), she jogged right over to me, fixed the problem, apologized, and told me to have a great evening.

“Thanks, you too!” Ah, much better.

Anyway… maybe pictures of the bathroom by Saturday.

Fire and steel. Keep watching to the end if you can stand it. The end is the most unbelievable. I’m kinda sad I didn’t get to see this in “Hot Topics” today so I could see the meltdown in its entirety. I took the View off the DVR list yesterday because I couldn’t stand it anymore, and Frank can’t bear to even have it on as background noise. Newsflash, Rosie: Ahmadinejad would have you and your partner executed (probably by stoning or hanging) for being lesbians.

Oh, and make sure you catch the “Jimmy Carter error” Freud bit at the very beginning of the video. Ro, darling, that’s because it was Jimmy Carter and not someone with gralls.

And then go here for Treacher’s Ro-ku-like comments.

we have finally agreed on a paint color for the house.

Waverly Home Classics brand’s “Tawny”. #WV40002.

HAHAHA! Who’s Nicki? Indeed, Sawyer, indeed!

Wait. You can’t have flashbacks after Nicki’s already dead. Oh, I guess since Paulo is also in the flashback, you can. That’s cheap.

As soon as she started calling for Paulo when the old guy was croaking, I figured they were killing him together. That’s so sweet. I’m guessing she ate some of the razzle dazzle.

Wow. Shannon and Boone back on the show.

These timed flashbacks are new. 84 days ago… 80 days ago…

And now Paulo is dead? You can’t have more flashbacks with Shannon dead, Boone dead, Paulo dead, and Nicki dead. Artdz is dead too. Locke was briefly there, but he’s gone off his nut lately, so I don’t think he counts.

Barbara Walters does like to interview the adulterers, doesn’t she?

It’s good Sawyer’s there to tell people not to drink poison water.

Well, there’s Ethan. He’s dead, too. Ok, more flashback people who are actually alive. But the flashback is from the POV of the dead people.

Hurley thinks the toner monster kilt them. They do look like they were scared to death.

Wow. They found the little plane and were smart enough to not go into it (she wasn’t, he was). They discovered the Pearl Station (she wouldn’t go in, he wanted to).

Nikki and Paulo had a walkie like the Others! Sawyer hates them more than he hates himself.

Wow, the bag is worth 8 million dollars. No wonder they’re so uptight about it. Lotta good it’s gonna do them in the South Pacific or Indian. Maybe they can find a bank on the other side of the island and convert it to Dharma Dollars.

Ooooh. Interesting scene in the Pearl Station when Paulo hid the nesting doll and got the walkie talkie that Ben and Juliet left behind.

This is so far the best episode all season. It’s very intriguing. Oh, and I’d like to state for those who have been under a rock that I totally heart Michael Giacchino.

Sun brings up twice that the Others kidnapped her, and the guilt gets to Charlie. He comes clean with her! That’s gonna make things awkward.

So Sawyer did fight with Nikki over a gun, and right before she died, she was burying a sack of diamonds. Sawyer didn’t tell his friends because he kinda wanted to keep the diamonds, but here, go ahead, you can have them.

And Paulo and Nikki were all lovey dovey twelve hours ago until she found the nicotine gum falling out of his pockets.

Oh, and Sawyer has poured the diamonds over the two of them, and they’re burying the diamonds with them.

AAAAH! MEDUSA SPIDER! THEY’RE PARALYZED! Not dead. And as she’s watching Paulo tortured by the spider paralysis, she’s telling him he’ll be paralyzed for 8 hours. And that’s how they can have flashbacks. But don’t worry, you hear the tide starting to come in really high, and her eyes open right as Sawyer’s throwing dirt on her face. And they don’t show this, but the dirt will wash out, and the diamonds will wash away with the tide, and the no-longer-lovers will be alive and awake.

Best episode all season.

Next week Kate and Juliet spar. Coo’.

Yesterday Frank called a recruiter in Austin. “Please please please send us your resume. When will you be here?” I was in the garage working like mad, because I know he’s determined to leave me in Florida all by myself, and I will be a monkey’s flying cow uncle first. I asked him when he got off the phone when he told them he’d be available for work. Because you know, I’ve told him several times that we’re putting the house on the market April 15th, he can send his resume to Austin on the 7th, and we’ll plan to leave here end of April, mid-May, end of May, perhaps mid-June (because we know our house is going to sell right away, it’s all the buzz in the neighborhood). He can go end of April if there’s a job he absolutely can’t pass up, but really, I’d love us to have some time off to go to the Grand Canyon before he starts work in Texas. “So when did you say you’ll be available for work?” “I said we’d be in Austin in a couple of weeks or maybe a month.” “Do you hate me?” He had no idea why I would react any way other than pleased as punch that he’d given the correct answer. “You are just bound and determined to leave me in this hell called Florida all by myself, aren’t you?” (Please pardon my language, it’s what I said, I don’t want to lie to you.) “What? What’d I do? That’s not the right answer?”

You know, if he does leave me here by myself, I’m hiring a contractor to finish the rest of the work on the house and then spending a lavish couple of weeks at Disney (staying there in their uber-expensive rooms and everything) with a certain Prince Charming (Cinderella’s boyfriend) while I wait for the work to be done. Then while I’m selling the house, it’s pedicures and massages every day. Every day. So that job in Austin had better pay the big bucks, because I’ll be living it up down here and requiring quite the stipend. Oh, maybe when I have no showings, wRitErsbLock, sherlock, and I can hang out at the space center and use the annual pass I just got. Too bad my darling husband will be far away in Texas, chowing down on that awesome Austin food without me, not able to use his new KSC pass. Too bad, my love. Oh, and you have to leave me all but Old Faithful. You get to take only one gun with you until I come for good. You leave me to rot in Florida, you leave the weapons. The beautiful, shiny, sexy weapons. Not to mention, the beautiful, shiny, sexy wife! Slowly rotting in the Florida humidity. Yes, well, I’m gonna send you shiny, beautiful (not you readers, you–Frank) pictures of me cleaning the guns every night whilst I am abandoned here in the netherregions of America.

And since he’s helping me around the house right now, it’s project after project for him. Only he knows that I won’t let him pack stuff, because I want our things to get to Texas not broken. So he doesn’t even start grabbing stuff and throwing it into boxes, because, well, he just knows. He’s already done most of the outside work and gotten most of the stuff off the plant ledges for me (I have to redecorate them more sparingly and dust anything that goes back up there, plus we have to paint everything before anything goes back up…). So anything I come across for him, I just tell him, oh, you can do this next. He’s very efficient. My list is very long and celiactically slow-moving, though the boxes are getting packed fairly fast because I’m a much more organized person than one would think by looking at the state of things right now.

Anyway, he asked for something to do because he’d successfully removed the towel bar in the master bathroom (yes, they really did just glue it onto the wall), so I sucked in my breath and gave him very specific instructions on how to remove my clothes from the dryer. Mind you, I have nine categories of laundry, including dry-clean-only, and this is my smallest category, so there were about eight pieces of clothing in the dryer. And I gave very specific instructions. And asked nicely. “Ok, and make sure that you use only the big plastic hangers.” “Ok.” He acts like he hears what I’m saying, but he’s just pretend-listening. “And don’t smush the clothes when you hang them in the closet. They need their space.” They’re my cutest shirts. “Ok.” So I go into my closet after I’ve made an exhaustive list of everything we need at Lowe’s, Target, Walmart, BJ’s, the post office, and Big Lots. I can’t wait to put on my cutest new KSC t-shirt! It’s brown and gold, my sweetie who wants me to rot in Florida alone bought it for me with his allowance. I love it.

First thing I notice is that it is smushed. Along with another of my t-shirts fresh from the dryer. Eye roll. “I thought you said you wouldn’t smush my clothes?” See, he got distracted because there was lingerie in the dryer. I know, because he held it up and asked, “How am I supposed to know how to hang this stuff?” “Most of it is t-shirts. And if it’s lingerie, I have three hangers of lingerie, just hang it on one of those hangers. It’s not hard.” But he was still stuck on it’s black and pink and lacy. Anyway, “I’m sorry… I tried not to.” Then I noticed that everything was on wire hangers. WIRE HANGERS! They’re from the devil, you know. “Sweetie!” “What? What’d I do?” “Do you think I just say things to hear myself talk?” “What??” “I said only big plastic hangers.” “I used those until I ran out.” “That’s when you go to other closets and find more.” He usually asks in these situations. His head was still with the black and pink and lacy. “Oh. I thought you just preferred the plastic ones, but these were ok too.” “No. If these were ok, I wouldn’t have made a special point to say only use big plastic hangers.” “Then why do we have them?” Ah, quick, but I’m quick, too. “Because the drycleaners send clothes home on these. I immediately transfer clothes to the big plastic hangers so they’re not ruined. Wire hangers ruin clothes.” “Then why do drycleaners use them?” Why why why. “Because they’re cheap.” So there.

And then I see a classic example of why I just don’t let him touch the laundry ever. I didn’t take a picture, but I’ve taken a picture before. It wasn’t as bad this time, but it was on its way. I just started laughing. “Did you even try?” “I tried!” “No, you half-tried.” “I tried to try.” “You tried to half-try.”
(more…)

Packing two boxes makes me need a nap.

Scratch that. I know it’s not the packing. How did I survive all those years on gluten? It feels like I’m repeatedly getting kicked in the head.

My low back pain is in full force, thank you pinched nerve.

The house is coming along. The garage will be ready for painting by Wednesday. It would be ready by Tuesday except that trash isn’t collected until Wednesday, and about 20% of the garage is filled with what will go out with Wednesday’s collection.

Question: we’re going to paint the garage walls before we paint the floor… how do we paint behind the garage door rails? Just carefully?

Mmm. Gluten challenge, thank you. Dr. Fresh Air, thank you. Celiacs not currently on gluten challenges, I apologize.

We were grocery shopping together sometime last week (together at the grocery doesn’t happen that often–it’s a housewifely thing that happens during the daylight working hours, but it was after a Home Depot trip, and those are very frequent these days, because we are truly serious about this whole moving to Texas thing, yee-haw). I saw Oreos. My brain made a quick calculation and realized that I am on a gluten challenge–again I say yee-haw. I’m telling you, you don’t realize how much you miss Oreos until you’re not allowed to eat them. Even though we’re not splurging on anything right now, I grabbed a bag. “Can I have them, even though they’re not in the budget? I have to eat gluten, you know. Doctor says so. Oreos have gluten.” It all flew out of my mouth at Frank in a projectile, right at his face. He knew what was best for his face: “Sure you can, Monkeyface.”

Saturday morning I was sitting watching Friday night’s Red Eye and eating the remainder of the Oreos, like normal people do. Frank sat down with his coffee and started talking about wanting some of the Oreos. And then he reached into the little carton (bag discarded) like he no longer treasured his sweet little fingers. I glared. He’s not on a gluten challenge!

I thought he got the message, but I got up and went to the kitchen to grab a Publix Ginger Ale to wash down my Saturday morning breakfast of champions. When I came back to the couch, there was ONE OREO LEFT IN THE CARTON!

That’s when I realized he doesn’t love me anymore. I didn’t even look at him. “Well. Can I have the last Oreo?” I asked him. “Sure.” SURE?

That reminds me. I need to call Dr. Fresh Air for my biopsy results.

And Frank owes me another bag of Oreos.

Oh! And this morning in the mirror I saw that I’m getting those fat wrinkle lines on my neck, which means I’m starting to put the weight back on. Yay, gluten challenge! At least we know it’s working. Seizures, migraines (somewhat), weight gain, nerve pain, muscle pain, gastric issues, heightened teeth sensitivity… yeah, I can’t think of any symptom that hasn’t returned.

Last night was a little funny. First my Grama called. I thought she was calling because she’d heard we were moving to Texas and was all excited. It turns out that she was calling just to chat. My cousin Kerri had called her to chat, and Grama had decided to call all the grandkids that she hadn’t talked to recently. So when I said that I assumed she’d heard our news, she about jumped through the fiber optics to help me pack. All the grandkids back in Texas. She thought I was going to say I was pregnant. No, lemme get my health taken care of and get out of Florida first.

Then my Aunt Wanda emailed me, not half an hour after I talked to my Grama. Aunt Wanda and Grama live about fifteen minutes from each other. Crazy Aunt Wanda had just been reading my blog and was shocked and excited to learn that we were moving to Texas and will be about an hour and a half from two of her daughters.

Neither had talked to the other. I was amused.

Coda:

My Papa is having health problems. Anemia, gastric problems, hypothyroid, muscle aches. Hmm. Does most of that sound like anyone you know? I told my Grama to demand a celiac blood test, and she wrote it down. Not that I have a lot of faith that the blood lab at the VA hospital in Podunk, Texas is going to get it right. No offense, Podunk VA hospital. She recently switched them to 9-grain bread. Healthy for everyone except celiacs. And I’m ordering copies of Dr. Green’s book for my Crazy Aunt Wanda (who lives near Papa) and my mom (whom I have been hounding about getting tested) today.
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Much better than Seagram’s.

You can even smell the ginger when the can is near your face.

I made Jenn sick by wishing it were me, not her, going to see the Stars/Dogs play tonight. But what probably made you sick, Jenn, was the thought of seeing your last-place-in-the-division team play in person. Just sayin’. :-) UPDATE: Besides… well… I don’t want to rub it in.

Maybe you’ll feel better if you go read this wonderful article, Jenn. It made me absolutely quiver with pride. You’ll forget what ails you and feel good as new.
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all the cassette tapes i’ve ever owned, dating back to elementary and middle school, including:

mix tapes made by my blogfather and friend since high school, John Moon.
audio books.
and–drum roll–the soundtrack to Footloose. on cassette tape.

don’t worry, my mom still has all the LPs somewhere, unless we lost those in our great house flood way back when. i remember we lost some of them but not all of them.

SARAHK: Wow, I can’t believe how many seizures I’m having today! They’re constant.
SARAHK [mocking self]: Wow, I can’t believe how many seizures I’m having. Duh. Maybe it’s all the gluten I’ve been stuffing in my face.
FRANK J: Yeah, I was about to say… I’d be surprised if you weren’t having more.
SARAHK: Well, my new seizure meds have been working very well, so I haven’t been having many at all, but today… goodness. And the nerve pain in my leg is so awful.

Not to mention I’m exhausted, a little irritable… both symptoms of celiac (what isn’t?), both symptoms of epilepsy.

The nerve pain has been getting worse by the day. This morning I woke up with it. Big shocker there. Tingling, burning, prickling. This is how I feel when I sit down. Standing alleviates most of the leg symptoms, but I’m so tired that standing is just so insurmountable. No night symptoms, thank goodness. Probably because the Keppra, the Topamax, and the Lyrica all have an excellent sleepy side effect. Oh, and there’s that celiac exhaustion thing.

The migraines haven’t been as bad this week. That’s a huge plus.

Back to packing. Maybe if I open the windows and bring in the fresh air, I’ll feel springy.

Ok, I’ve worked hard in the garage all week. I found my ‘NSYNC bobbleheads yesterday in the garage. I had to throw out the boxes in which they came, because the boxes were infested with the nasty, detestible silverfish. Yuck. But I’m going to give the boys a good washing with the power nozzle on the garden hose to make sure any future silverfish babies do not reside in their bobblebodies. I simply can’t throw out the boys. The memories. El Paso concert with Cindy! Texas Stadium concert–there were eight of us. Reunion Arena–five of us? Or six? Five. I coordinated all events. Every word of every song, except Digital Getdown, that hideous gimmick. Yes, I can’t give up the bobbleheads. You know they were on my bookshelf at work at the CPA firm I worked for in Fort Worth? Shamelessly. I was so proud, did not care. The partners shook their heads, looked away, but no clients came into my office, so they didn’t ask me to remove them. The bobbleheads I keep. Next house they get a prominent spot on a bookshelf next to the Kellie Pickler CD clock that the evil fake sarahk sent me, lest they become infested with silverfish again.

I can probably finish the garage by the end of the weekend. Once it is clean, we can cut the plywood that we already have and lay it in the attic so we’ll have some storage space and won’t have to rent any for things like Christmas decorations and anything else that can bear heat for a couple of months. And maybe we can paint the garage walls and floor on Monday or Tuesday. First the floor needs a good cleaning. Once the garage is painted and dry, we can start neatly stacking anything we pack from closets and the house in the garage and start painting the house. I’d like to start painting the house and installing the new blinds by midweek or the end of next week.

I’ve already packed some of the kitchen and given away so much of the kitchen stuff to Kisha. Am on the good advice of Teresa moving everything on the countertops into the cabinets unless I can bear to pack it. I already have a ton of cabinet space cleared out. For me, that is a huge accomplishment. The laundry room, which is in the kitchen, is already straight and cleaned out. I did that a few weeks ago. Just got tired of it being a mess and cleaned it in a whirlwind of Sarah.

I have a million boxes started, none finished, several almost finished. And lists started.

Check out my lists:
I have a list that I’m making as I pack things that says how my house is laid out now so that when we get to our new house, I don’t even have to think of where to put things. For example, my bookshelves in the den. I have listed what category of books goes on each shelf. What type of decorations goes on the top shelf of which bookshelf. In the livingroom, I have down that all the electronics cables go in a certain decorative trunk, and all the Nintendo extras such as bongos and microphones go in another decorative trunk. So. The most thinking when we get to the new place is if we have two living areas instead of one, I have to decide which living area the decorative trunks go in. My lists are awesome.

Another list is the list of boxes. The boxes are numbered by room. Livingroom boxes are LR1, LR2, etc. Kitchen boxes are K1, K2, etc. And each box says (on the top of the box and the side of the box) exactly what is in the box. I mean exactly. My friend Shelley taught me this when I moved from my Fort Worth house. List exactly what is in each box, and you always know where everything is. If you need to find something right away, you know where to find it. And the list is the same. Each box number, and exactly what is in each box. That way we can check off the boxes when we get there and we’ll know if we lose something and exactly what we lost. I’ll also number and list all of my storage bins. No need to repack those into boxes, I’ll just stuff newsprint into those to make them move-ready.

I also have a list of everything we need to do. That list is HUGE.

Speaking of that. I should get to work.

ever having a problem with silverfish in Texas.

disgusting little creatures. i look forward to leaving these horrid things behind. i mean, i know they also live in Texas, but in Florida they plague me.

much like the cockroaches/waterbugs/palmetto bugs of Texas, which, incidentally, make any house uninhabitable for me and require prompt moveout. the kitties are under strict instructions: never let me see one, or we move. so far, they’ve never let me see one since i’ve had Minerva until about four days ago, and what do you know? we’re moving. good kitties!

in front of Frank.

to ‘NSYNC’s “Up Against the Wall”. terrible little song, but i’m playing my “albums” playlist on my ipod over the amplifier (my own playlist called “albums”, not just the music listed by albums), and really the only two songs i’ll not be too lazy to FF through are Carrie Underwood’s “Inside Your Tear Ducts” and ‘NSYNC’s “Digital Getdown”.

as i danced, he kept saying, “stop that now, or i’m going to stop loving you.” and “the golfers are staring at you.” they weren’t, because i kept glancing over at the window to make sure.

Joey Fatone is soooo going to win DWTS.

in other ‘NSYNC news, i found in the garage today (while still unpacking boxes from the last move–I refuse to take trash from the last move with us on this move) a box of unopened ‘NSYNC valentines, a Lance Bass placard from the Backstage Pass game (which i still own, thank you very much), and an Entertainment Weekly (i stopped subcribing years ago, too infuriating) with them on the cover. none of these items went into the trash bag. all into the scrapbooking bin. i’ve still never done my ‘NSYNC scrapbook. or any of my scrapbooks, for that matter. funny, that. i have all those scrapbooking supplies.

unfortunately, life gets in the way. but Tammi and i had a fantastic 3-hour lunch (not to mention awesome banana ice cream in waffle cone, thank you, gluten challenge) on Tuesday. we both most definitely needed a little escape from… well, all of it.

i made Tammi blush. i did. i just came right out and said something, and she was not expecting me to be so bold, and she blushed, right there at the table. i didn’t know she could be made to blush. it can be done! i did it. i won’t say what i said to bring out the red in her cheeks, but ahhhhhh, yeeeeeeaaaaaah, i will say whatever i’m thinking, and i did, and it was so hilarious, the blushing and my wide eyes and dropped-jaw-reaction to the blushing. that’s all i’m saying. i might post a picture of the blushing Tammi later, though.

i’ll have y’all know, i was 20 minutes late and feeling like a heel. i was most pleased to learn that i was the early one. :-D Tammi’s navigation issues are way worse than my time-to-destination estimation issues.

later i will blog our conversation, me at Chipotle (which Tammi had for the first time ever), Tammi in her car, in which i tried to navigate her in to the restaurant. unfortunately, i lacked all the information and thought she was coming from the west rather than from the south, and i tried to steer her in from the wrong direction. cue comedy of errors! i wrote the conversation down while sitting at Chipotle. it’s in my purse, i’ll blog it later. anyway, so when she actually got to the restaurant? yeah, i was surprised to learn that she was coming from way down by Disney (south), rather than by the Chipotle of the west by the convention center (notice that all of my Orlando navigation skills involve knowing where Chipotle restaurants are).

i’m so glad we had a chance to meet up.

that i’m singing “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina” over and over while sitting on the couch, looking at rent houses in Austin.

i think it’s because Rachel put in the comments that she wants to cry over our moving. don’t cry for me, Rachel. apparently it’s making me sing Broadway. not that that’s a bad thing. but i have packing to do.

Austin, to be exact.

Frank and I are working hard to get the house ready to sell. We know of people in the neighborhood who want to buy a house on the golf course, and we have gotten the word out that we are putting the house on the market no later than April 15 and also the price of the house. And Frank’s resume will be in Austin no later than April 7.

Oh, and Frank’s going to be a writer now. :-) I’m soooo excited about this. He’s going to take contract engineering jobs as he wants them, and we’ll squirrel away money while he’s engineering, and then he’ll take time off between jobs to focus on the writing. If we need extra money now and then, I’ll take a little bit of temp accounting work (not much, because we both love me being a homemaker).

I’m so excited to be leaving Florida. We’re excited about moving on and settling down and having a yard with a fence for Rowdi. And it’s really happening. Things are in the works, we have dates, I’m looking at houses in Austin, we’re looking at jobs out there… The moving boxes were delivered yesterday, and I’ve already packed several.

The food. Oh, the food. I love the food in Austin.

Oh yeah, and I’ll be within a few hours of cousins, dear friends, lots of bloggers. Within 3.5 hours of Spidade, Sizzle, brother, and essay! And in the same state as Bikermommy and Pappy!

Yeah, so we plan to be out of Florida before summer hits. We’ll miss our Florida blogger friends and our church congregation and Mickey and the Space Center, but I won’t miss the humidity or the miles and miles of flat nothing and ugly cabbage palms. We’re moving to the Hill Country! That means I’ll have hills for jogging. Hills! Yes, I know it’s humid in Austin, but it’s not quite as humid as here, and it actually gets cold for a few days in the winter. And if I recall correctly from my auditing days (I had clients there–that’s how I know the food, the food, oh, the food), they actually get autumn in Austin.

And go me, I’ve kept a secret for a whole week!

So… that’s the news.

We took Minerva and Sydney to the vet for their yearly checkups yesterday. They’re so funny when they go to the vet. They usually get a little mad at the doctor for what he’s doing to them, but they wait until they get home to get mad at each other, at which time hissing ensues for a few minutes until they realize that they used to be best friends before they went to the vet’s office this morning.

Yesterday was a little different. I was driving, because we were running a tad behind, and I’m the one who could get us there on time (three minutes early). So when Minerva started flicking her front paw through the front of the cat carrier to grab Frank’s hand with her super-sharp claws, he was a little shocked and yelled at her not to do that, and I had to tell him that she simply wanted him to pet her, because she hates the car. We know that she hates the car. And U-Hauls. Well, once Minerva started with the crying and the neediness, Sydney started. And Sydney started making actual cat sounds.

When we got to the vet’s office, there were a couple of small dogs in the waiting room, but Minerva was in a carrier, and Sydney was in the Sherpa. Sydney was watching everything intently. When the vet tech (the one who adores Rowdi, and whose name I still did not pick up, because I’m a total pinkytoe) came to get us, Sydney turned into a completely different cat.

We got into an exam room, and I opened the Sherpa to let Sydney out. She hunkered down on a counter. Frank let Minerva out on a counter perpendicular to Syd’s counter, and Sydney’s eyes became huge when she saw this new, strange cat. The vet tech took Minerva away to weigh her (wow, she’s under 10 pounds now! Yay Eagle Pack Lite food!), and Sydney lay in a tense ball on the counter. When VT came back for Sydney, Sydney saw Minerva and started hissing at her. It was so funny. At first we thought she was hissing at VT, but later we realized she was hissing at Minerva. She hissed several times. Finally, VT took Syd into the other room, and when VT dragged Sydney near Minerva, Minerva reached out and swiped Sydney. I took that to mean, “Shut up and get over yourself.” In the other room, we heard Sydney start screeching and again sounding like an actual cat. VT came back and said, “We got a fecal sample while we were in there.” Sydney is under 9 pounds!

After Sydney got back from being poked in the rear, she hissed at Minerva every time she saw her. I was laughing and apologizing for the laughing. “I’m so sorry. I know I’m like the parent who laughs when her children are misbehaving, and I won’t be that kind of mom, but for some reason, I find this so funny. I’m sorry I’m laughing so hard.”

They did Minerva’s shots, checked her blood, checked her teeth, etc. Dr. Young tried to take a fecal sample from Minerva. VT asked, “Did you get anything?” Dr. Young said, “No, but that’s ok. We got one from Sydney, and we’ll just assume that it’s the same.” Hahaha. My kitties are the sweetest animals, but they do NOT like going to the doctor! Maybe they know how mommy feels about doctors. :-)

Frank and I would like to move back west later this year, so I had a slew of questions for Dr. Young about transporting the dog and the cats, etc. Because this could be the last time we see the vet in 2007. To make the visit more fun, we don’t particularly want to lose the kitties, and if we do lose the kitties, we want to have a chance of finding them… so we asked Dr. Young about getting them microchipped. I thought if you didn’t get it done at the pound when you adopted a shelter animal, it was $150 or more for a chip, but the chips were only $40 each (and then under $20 each for activation). Sold. They had the chips on-hand, so we got the kitties injected with microchips. That was fun. They did Minerva first. She howled a lot. And Sydney went nuts with the hissing. Mommy went around the counter and started snapping at Sydney and telling her no. She stopped. It’s funny, everyone says that cats don’t listen to humans, completely ignore all commands, and can’t be controlled, but our cats totally listen to me if I snap at them. Sure, as soon as I walked away, she started hissing again, but when I walked back over and stood over her, she stopped and calmed down.

We put Minerva back in the carrier so Sydney couldn’t attack her new foe. And then Dr. Young answered every possible question, did every single bit of paperwork, dotted every i, and crossed every t that he could before he finally grabbed Miss Crankypants for her exam and microchipping. She wasn’t happy with the shot. Nor the doctor cranking open her mouth to see her teeth. And she most definitely did not like the microchip.

That’ll be fun when we do finally move back west, though, right? Instead of one car-hating cat, I’ll have two in the cab of a U-Haul with me. Frank will have Rowdi in his car with him. We’ll have walkie-talkies.

I’m getting a little ahead of myself. We should fix up the house and sell it before we jump in a U-Haul, right? We are working on that.

So Sam on General Hospital just tipped someone like the FedEx delivery guy. Is that normal? If so, I feel like a huge jerk for all those FedEx and UPS guys I’ve never tipped. Not to mention the postlady.

Frank the Artist has drawn a comic of my traffic escapades last week. He does like to exaggerate. I can’t wait to see what he does with the colonoscopy.

60 Minutes sucks. Like mega-bigtime. Nobody cares about your stupid show or your stupid Andy Rooney.

So much for my Tivo’d Amazing Race. 14 minutes isn’t going to get me very far, then, is it? Of course, with Rob and Amber out, I imagine it will be incredibly boring from here on out. And Charla and Myrna were already so stinking annoying; I’m sure they will be absolutely unbearable now.