Betty (High-Tech) Spaghetti

Am I lame?

I'm about to post some pictures of the renovated rooms.

But first, allow me to describe to you what I had to go through in order to do this. First, I had to find my camera, and I did. It was in the brown bag I'm not carrying these days because my snow boots are black.

OK, got the camera. Then I checked to see whether it still had a charge, because if I had to find the charging apparatus, all bets were off. But it was charged.

Then I went around and took a few photographs. OK, Ansel Adams I'm not (I'm really more of a Cindy Sherman type, anyway.

Then I had to find the cable to attach the camera to my laptop. In an amazing burst of inspiration (seriously, Archimedes in his bath had nothing on me) I check the contents of one of the suitcases that I packed and brought up from the city and hadn't had time to unpack. Voila!

Then I went upstairs and got my laptop's power cord, because God knows I don't want the stupid laptop to crap out while I'm trying to upload pictures.

Then I figure that I might as well bring down the Macintosh laptop because when I found my camera cable, I also found the USB cord for the iPod, and what a miracle that was. Also my cell phone charger, because the stupid thing is about to start beeping LOW BATTERY at me any second now.

So then I bring it all downstairs to the dining room table. Many people prefer to eat in the kitchen. They believe that the old-fashioned dining room is dead as Marley's ghost. But I say nay. The wireless connection is much stronger in the dining room. So here I am in the dining room with two laptops, two power cords, one camera cable, a cordless phone because the fucking thing keeps ringing, an iPod, an iPod cable, a cell phone charger, a credit card (why? I have no idea) and a partridge in a pear tree.

And now I'm about to upload pictures.

I hope you're happy.

The post-renovation Poppy, and other stories

I don't think most people realize how completely frantic life is the last week of a home renovation. It's like all of a sudden the construction team wakes up and realizes that they only have a day's worth of work to do.

Now, just like basketball, where the last three minutes of a game take an hour, the last day of construction takes a week. This is because the construction guys finally notice things--like the fact that the toilet for my daughter's bathroom came without a toilet seat. So they tell me I need to go buy one, and in the mean time, they'll go out in my backyard and smoke a few cigarettes.

Then they decide that I need to approve the color of the stain for the kitchen floor. I go and watch them smear various choices on the floor and look very grave while a team of four guys and a floor expert await my final degree, talking softly in Russian, and wishing they could go have a cigarette.

So between that and questions about where I want the towel bars and toilet paper holder installed, I spent a lot of time wading through rubble and dealing with really picky little last-minute shit.

And here's a hint for the design-challenged: I strongly suggest that you place the toilet paper holder near the toilet.

Then there was the cleaning up. I'm a seasoned campaigner, and I know that I could spend the next week dusting and vacuuming and still end up with plaster dust all over the place, so I called in the pros.

So there was a day when the Polish construction workers were reattaching ceiling fans and chandeliers and putting the toilet paper holder next to the toilet, while the six Mexican cleaning guys were washing windows and vacuuming every inch of the house--including the walls, I think.

So last Thursday we moved back into our house to admire our new, conveniently-located toilet paper holders, and put shit back where it belongs.

And that will take the rest of my life, because That Stud Muffin I Married and I decided that a lot of our shit is just that--shit. We don't want to put it back. We don't want it in our house. So instead of just cramming things back into various drawers and cabinets and closets, we're culling and pruning and deleting. We're keeping only the pick of the litter, the best of the bunch, the cream of the crop, the tip of the top.

In other words, our house will be empty.

What now? Well, it's 8:50 in the morning and I'm not dressed. I'm not on my way to the gym. I'm sitting in bed, wearing my pajamas.

During the hell that we call renovations, I would wake up in Chicago at about 6:00. I'd get up, get the kids up, get breakfast into everyone, get dressed, pack the lunches and backpacks and then at 7:30 we'd head down the elevator to the garage and the drive to Newtopia.

So in some ways, life is going to be a lot simpler. So simple that I could start a magazine. Simple Living Like Poppy. The cover photograph could be a new toilet, complete with lid, and next to it? A lovely new toilet paper holder.

Of course, Christmas is coming.Which complicates things somewhat. I'll have to deal with that. Like putting up the Christmas tree--I'll have to do that soon. Assuming, that is, that we still have a Christmas tree, and didn't chuck it out because we decided that it wasn't good enough for our new, cream of the crop, conveniently-located, recently-renovated house.

I've been putting crap away all day long. You're getting a meme

Stolen from Brilliantly Inept:

What kind of soap is in your bathtub right now? Caswell Massey Jojoba Oil

Do you have any watermelon in your refrigerator? No.

What would you change about your living room? Pretty much everything, I'm afraid. I'd get new window treatments, a new sofa, a new television (flat screen), new shelves for the DVDs, new rugs, and I'd get one of those hassock/coffee table combination thingies so my husband could put his feet up. New tables for next to the loveseat. New lamps. I'd scrap the mantel and fireplace and get nice ones. On the other hand, I've just done a bunch of renovations. so I don't think I'll be replacing any fireplaces any time soon.

Are the dishes in your dishwasher clean or dirty? Dirty.

What is in your fridge? Three gallons of organic two percent milk, a dozen organic eggs, way more broccoli than anyone really needs, a bunch of oranges, Diet Coke, white wine, raw chicken, raw steak, lettuce, tomatoes, and who the HELL came up with this question? Maybe I should just post a picture.

White or wheat bread? White, but it's OK, because I don't eat it. Me, I eat whole grain "colon blow"-style wraps, instead.

What is on top of your refrigerator? A built-in cabinet thing containing a bunch of trays and platters I won't remember stashing there.

What color or design is on your shower curtain? It's white eyelet.

How many plants are in your home? One. A poinsettia. I killed the others by leaving them on the porch while our house renovations were going on. House renovations lasted well past the frost date in Illinois. Whoops.

Is your bed made right now? No, and since it's 9:30 p.m., I doubt it will be.

Comet or Soft Scrub? Comet on my new bathtubs? Are you mental? Soft Scrub, or baking soda, or maybe, to be on the safe side, I'll just lick them clean.

Is your closet organized? HAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Can you describe your flashlight? Wait a minute. Was this meme written by a non-native speaker of English? Someone who gets his or her small, battery-powered personal appliances confused? Does this person actually want to know about my sex toy(s), if any?

(Because honestly, who cares about flashlights?)

Do you drink out of glass or plastic most of the time at home? Glass. Plastic is plastic, man.

Do you have iced tea made in a pitcher right now? No, and generally speaking, I don't. I'm from New England, and we don't inhale iced tea the way Southern girls do. Especially not in December.

If you have a garage, is it cluttered? At the moment it is so full of boxes of tile that I can't get my car out. Yes, the construction workers piled it all up behind my car, which is now boxed in. Is that cluttered enough for you?

Curtains or blinds? Both.

How many pillows do you sleep with? Two. I'm kinky that way.

Do you sleep with any lights on at night? No, but technology keeps me awake anyway, what with the clock radio, the laptop, the wireless modem, the cordless phone, the dimmer for my bedside lamp, and the printer in the next room, etc., etc.

How often do you vacuum? Never. Paid professionals come and do it for me once a week.

Standard toothbrush or electric? Sonicare Elite.

What color is your toothbrush? White, unlike my teeth.

Do you have a welcome mat on your front porch? No. We do provide a mat for wiping your feet. But it doesn't say "Welcome," it says "Hey, asshole! Wipe your feet!"

What is in your oven right now? The smaller of my two cast iron skillets.

Is there anything under your bed? A collection of eBayed vintage magazines that I really should shitcan.

Chore you hate doing the most? Polishing silver.

What retro items are in your home? Aside from me? Lots, most notably my collection of etiquette books, my vintage housekeeping books, and my Musee de Prepisme.

Do you have a separate room that you use as an office? Yes. Is it such a cluttered mess that nothing can possibly be accomplished there? Yes.

How many mirrors are in your home? Nine.

What color are your walls? The living room and dining room are pale pink, the kitchen is beige, my bathroom is white, my daughter's bathroom is blue, the other bathroom is green, my daughter's room is blue, my son's room is blue, the music room is beige, my husband's study is dark blue, my bedroom and study are white. WHO CARES.

Do you keep any kind of protection weapons in your home? You're shitting me, right? OK. I keep a nine-inch, pearl handled, pistol grip "flashlight" that might be handy for thumping intruders on the head.

What does your home smell like right now? Spaghetti sauce.

Favorite candle scent? None. I don't like scented candles. But here is a truly fascinating fact about me that I will throw in, just to show there are no hard feelings about the scented candles, not to mention the sex toys flashlight question. I burn only 100 percent beeswax candles. There! I'll be on Letterman any second now, I just know it.

What kind of pickles (if any) are in your refrigerator right now? A bunch of pickled peppers, and I am not kidding. My husband likes them.

What color is your favorite Bible? I don't have one. Actually, the New Oxford New Testament in paperback is my favorite, but my husband made off with it. Isn't there a commandment against this kind of thing?

Ever been on your roof? NO WAY. I'm afraid of heights.

Do you own a stereo? Yes. It's pink and has Hello Kitty on it. You wouldn't expect someone like me to have a Hello Kitty stereo, would you? Well, the joke's on you. I traded in the Victrola quite a while ago.

How many TVs do you have? Two sets, plus we get television through the iMac in my study.

How many house phones? Six. But I never answer them, so don't bother.

Do you have a housekeeper? Just the galley slaves who come in once a week.

What style do you decorate in? Eva Gabor in Green Acres meets Ma in Little House on the Prairie.

Do you like solid colors in furniture or prints? I like solid colors, but I have prints or some kind of texture, because solid colors show all the spills, and we are a messy bunch.

Is there a smoke detector in your home? Yes.

In case of fire, what are the items in your house which you’d grab if you only could make one quick trip? My jewelry, my son's turtle, and my laptop, in case anyone leaves a comment.

Why renovating a house is like going on a diet

I know this sounds like a stretch, but it's true. Here's why.

Our house can now boast a renovated kitchen and two renovated bathrooms. New floors, new tile, new fixtures, new lighting. It took three months and thousands of dollars. Our house was basically uninhabitable, so we moved to our apartment in the city. I drove the children back and forth to school every day. Sometimes I had to do a double commute. On an average week, I spent about 12 hours driving back and forth. (This might not sound like much, but our house is two blocks from my kids' school, so in the average week, when I'm not renovating my house, I probably put 50 miles on the car.)

After all that, you'd think it would be a knock out. A show place. A drivers-slowing-down, traffic-jam-producing, wow-they-are-so-lucky envy-producing pleasure dome. But no.

What we have is a kitchen where the floor isn't rotting. The refrigerator is standing up straight, not tilting forward in a frightening fashion. My daughter has a sink whose stopper works properly, a bathtub that doesn't have the remnants of little flower-shaped keep-you-from-slipping decals, and a toilet that actually flushes. The downstairs bathroom's shower works. The faucets don't drip. The tile isn't cracked.

In other words, it's nice--but let's face it, it's also normal.

Well, losing weight is the same way. Say you lose 30 pounds. Or 50. Or 125. You've completely changed the way you eat, shop for groceries, and prepare food. You've cut out the beer, the real Cokes, or the cocktails. Every restaurant menu required deep scrutiny. You asked them to take away the bread basket. On top of that, you spent hours every week working out. Maybe you joined a gym or bought an expensive treadmill.

Basically, you put hours of time and energy into this project. It became your passion. You know dieting and fitness the way you knew your college major. And what's the end result? You look--normal.

I want to hang pictures of my house's "before" all over it so people who see it for the first time realize how much work I've done. And when I finish losing weight, I want to get a size medium t-shirt that says I Used to Weigh 211 Pounds* so people will realize that the normal-sized woman they see did not get that way without a lot of effort.

p.s. Pictures will come later, I promise. Right now I'm washing dishes and putting things back into the kitchen cabinets. And I have to drive downtown--whoopie!--to rescue my son's turtle. But I got to sleep until 7:00 this morning!

*OK, that was the day I gave birth to my son. It still counts!

Today found me, at various times:

wide awake at 6:00 in the morning.

stuck in traffic.

singing "Santa Baby" to the Karaoke version on my iPod.

dressed in black, with a full face of makeup and tons of bling, singing "Santa Baby" to the mirrors in my apartment.

wearing a corsage and singing "Santa Baby" to a room full of middle-aged and elderly women.

listening to my daughter explain why it's my fault she forgot to bring her lunch to school.

driving in a blizzard.

walking out of Home Depot wearing a red wool coat with a black fox collar, black kid gloves, and a toilet lid on my head.

listening to my daughter sob and complain that her teachers are wasting her time.

taking my son to his cello lesson.

taking both my kids to their karate class.

listening to my daughter sob because she walked under the rear door of my minivan just as it was closing and got hit on the head.

begging my children for french fries.

using up my very last drop of patience dealing with my daughter's hysterics; this time over the difficulty of her homework.

drinking wine.

Like Water for Grout, or, Poppy Tries to Get Artistic

Cell phones are kewl! I can play Sonic the Hedghog. And make little videos. And text people. But the best thing is its photographic abilities! Behold, the kitchen, not-quite-after:



And the ceiling light in the downstairs bathroom. With random hot pink patches!



And the downstairs bathroom, cunningly accessorized by a ladder and the guy getting water so he can mix more grout.



Amazing, right?

Luckily for the future of American manufacturing, my phone makes telephone calls, too.

Its the Most! Craptastical! Time of the Year

The Long and Winding Home Renovation Project is finally coming to an end. This photograph will give you an idea of what I'll be dealing with this week.


A room that is not being renovated. Although you can't tell.

The downstairs bathroom is 95 percent finished; so is my daughter's bathroom.


My lovely dining room

The kitchen is too, except for the fact that I got all pissy and stamped my little foot and screamed that the granite they installed wasn't good enough for the Buxoms. They'll be swapping it for stuff that is good enough. If they know what's good for them, that is.

And then, there will be the installing of cabinet handles and last little details like that.

But! The post construction clean up crew is scheduled to show up on Thursday. And we are planning to move back into the house on Friday.

This means that much organization will be occurring this week. The cupboards, for example, and the putting back of dishes therein. The realization that said cupboards were full of a lot of stupid, useless, crap, and the subsequent foisting of said stupid, useless crap on several innocent charities.

Unfortunately, since Christmas is coming (have you noticed?) this is also a week packed with special events. For example, I'll be performing idiotic Christmas songs with one of my singing groups. Envy me, blogosphere, for I will be doing my amazing Eartha Kitt routine as I perform "Santa, Baby" for the Blue Haired League, a/k/a The National Society of the Colonial Dames of America in the State of Illinois. Because, blogosphere, there's nothing I enjoy more than purring a sexy, vampy song to a bunch of women. Who are as old as my mother.

Also, there's gingerbread house making with the Girl Scouts tomorrow. The continental breakfast for my son on Tuesday, to celebrate his making the Academic Honor Roll at his school, and my daughter's winter concert that evening. Meaning that I will spend about 12 hours hovering in the general vicinity of my kid's school. When I'm not filling landfills with dried-out markers, glitter glue, and chipped dishes. Then there's my kids' purple belt test at karate on Wednesday.

I could go on, but I'll spare you.

See, internet? Just because NaBloPoMo is over doesn't mean I won't be able to enthrall you with descriptions of my exciting life. I'm generous that way. And if anyone wants a dried up marker or some plaster dust--just say the word.