You know how you practice something for years and you get better at it sometimes? Taking pictures is not one of those things for me. It’s kind of like my mother and cooking. She did not really seem to like it, but people got fed. I think those online photo editors were made for me, but I will not touch them. I crop sometimes, but somehow I feel like I need to own my shitty photography.
Look at this:
This shit is not even centered. Where is the lid? I think I just liked the way the sun looked. AT ANY RATE, I now have a ton of stock in the freezer frozen in one and two cup increments. BAM. Take that, winter.
Then photobucket likes to mock me by taking my terrible photos and suggesting that I have them printed for hanging. HA.
The giving of the fangs went well. The guest list blew up a bit so I decided to rent a table and some chairs.
It was a little wobbly and had some sticky beer rings on it, but they cleaned off okay. Franny made menus, which you can barely see resting against the candlesticks.
I also got her to iron napkins. She was supposed to be at her father’s house this year, but she told him a couple of weeks before that she wanted to have dinner at our house. She has a very long list of complaints about holidays at her father’s house, which boils down to culture, I guess. I remember feeling adrift when my mother and stepfather separated and I had to spend a holiday with one or the other. It just felt wrong.
I had flowers all over the house. I like to split up bouquets and spread them out. I even had flowers that matched the tile in the bathrooms.
I was talking to someone recently who told me they were spending $50 a week on weed. That’s close to what I spent on flowers for Thanksgiving. I was thinking to myself, I wish I could spend $50 on flowers a week.
I deep cleaned the house, which was overdue, probably, though it never really gets trashed. I even washed the dogs, and trimmed their nails.
Now you two stay RIGHT THERE. Edith was due for shots today, and Horace has been cooped up, so I took them both to the vet. I kind of thought they would give each other moral support a little bit, but I think they were just magnifying the other’s anxiety. Two trembling spaniels fighting for space in my lap. Edith is already nine pounds.
Today was the start of the bathroom remodel. My contractors made the murder room look more murdery. Now, without the paneling, it’s just a sad naked basement.
A guy came with a truck full of portapotties and dropped one off in my driveway.
“Is this going to offend your neighbor?” my contractor asked, reasonably. “Should we hide it?”
“It’s not really possible to offend her more,” I said. Which reminds me that there have been Developments with the neighbor, but one thing at a time. I will reveal all this week.
Goethe has cabin fever. I feel her pain.