FemiKnitMafia

In my eternal quest to be just like Cate, I’ve taken to living in one room.

I repaired the living room ceiling, but despite my best seriously-pissed-off-consumer routine, had zero success at convincing Buck that it might just be his fault(gasp). Meanwhile, after my complaint that the upstairs floors felt like sandpaper, he decided to repair them, starting Sunday. After no Buck sighting on Sunday, Wifey called. Buck was watching football “very busy with 6 other jobs” and pledged to complete the floors on Tuesday.

90% of our possessions were moved into TWO rooms of the new house this weekend, with huge thanks to Wifey’s tireless family. The piles completely fill the two rooms, floor to ceiling.

Our apartment now contains a mattress, the computer, some clothes, some food, and a couple totally random piles that are destined for a cardboard containment system.

On Thursday evening, we’ll move those final items into the living room of the new house, where we’ll be sleeping (in ONE room) until the 2nd floor polyurethane is dry, and I can hoist the bedroom furniture up the stairs. Note: Wifey is 7 months surro-pregnant, and Little Man is 3-1/2, so neither will be much help in moving furniture up the stairs.

Wait … wait … it gets better.

The refriderator arrives on Thursday, but the outlet needs updating and I haven’t secured an electrician, despite a couple days of calling. The stove arrives on Sunday, but I can’t find a plumber with an opening until the end of next week. We have to keep the heat off because the radiators downstairs are spewing steam trying to ruin my ceilings, and we have to wait for the plumber to fix those. So the refride will end up in some totally random polarized location in our house, we’ll cook exclusively in the crockpot, microwave and electric kettle, and we’ll cuddle for warmth.

Seriously — I’m quiting my job and becoming an electrician. Become a plumber? No thanks, it’s too yucky. But electricians make serious bank, and are clearly in short supply.

In the midst of all this, I try to remember that I’m so frustrated because I’m oridinarily so privileged. Many people in our world would feel blessed in my situation. In the spirit of thankgiving, my love goes out to my incredible family, friends and community, and my appreciation goes out to a roof over my head, clean water to drink, health, a job, and leftover turkey sandwiches.

Dayyyyyaaaaaammn … she IS still hot!

Wifey called.
“Are you sitting down?”
“Yes, why?”
“I talked to Buck.”
“What the *&^% happened???”
“Well, apparently the heat clicked on last night, steam came rushing out of the radiator pipes, and since the radiators are all sitting in the kitchen, the moisture damaged the floors.”
“W H A T ?”
“Wait … there’s more. Your ceilings…”
“Don’t even tell me they *&^%ed up my ceilings. I’ll kill them. Seriously. My ceilings?”
“Yeah, the living room ceiling fell down, and smaller sections in other rooms fell down too.”
“What the *&^% does ‘fell down’ mean? What the *&^% is wrong with these people? How can you *&^% up the ceilings while refinishing the *&^%ing floors? I’m Gonna Kill Buck.”
. etc .

Just after the closing, Ms. 1890 begged for new ceilings and floors. She strongly stated that ceilings and floors are much harder to fix while living in the house, so I should focus on ceilings and floors for her 1 month of loneliness vacancy. For the most part, I listened to her sound advice. I’ve done a LOT of scraping, mudding, sanding and painting. In fact, a couple weeks ago I had a dream that I woke up one morning, looked in the mirror and noticed that my arms were jacked. It was hot. Anyway …

Two weekends ago (in the time of MafiaBro), it took no less than 7 (yes 7) people to convince me to pay someone else to refinish the floors. We got a fantastic price (which was due, in no small part, to my Halloween crowbar frenzy) from an experienced guy, and I’m thrilled with the preliminary findings.

You want photos? I’ll give you photos …

Living & Dining Rooms (before)

Living & Dining Rooms (after)

Entry/Stairs (before)

Entry/Stairs (after)

What every ceiling looked like

Front bedroom (with repaired ceiling)

Front Bedroom (before)
-why yes, that is a stack of linoleum, subfloor, and linoleum you see there, and yes, I did nearly break my back ripping it out.

Front bedroom (with nearly finished floors)

Middle bedroom (before)

Middle bedroom (with nearly finished floors)

As we near the move-in date, there are precious few evenings during which to work on the house. I need to finish the ceilings, so I’ll be swinging from the ladder again as soon as that poly dries.

* Despite a rapid influx of champagne, I didn’t embarass myself at the fancy restaurant on Friday. The food: un-freakin-believable. The company: stellar.

** Go wish Cate a Happy Birthday. She’s 37 today.

Warning: I’m bragging. I can’t wait to see DW tonight, eat amazing food, drink incredible wine, and roll around laughing in her fancy hotel room. Stop it! It’s not like that. I swear.

The shiny green shirt stayed at home. I decided on the ice blue silk, black suit pants, and my newest shoe-love.

The required boob shot:

The buttery silk that makes me want to pet myself (reminder–not socially acceptable):

This one’s for Cate. Admit it — they’re just as hot as wingtips, especially when I’m steppin’ on the prez. Admit it.

Oh yes, there was knitting. Arwen has a back hem and 3″ of knit fabric.

All bragging aside, I’m terrified to enter such fancy establishments. I’m usually a bumbling idiot at such events, so I need some good vibes. okk? fanks.

Happy Birthday to me
Happy Birthday to me
Happy Biiiiirthday to the Maaaaafiiiiia
Happy Birthday to me

Today I’m 32.

And I like even numbers. Have I ever told you about my wicked weird obsession with eating small things in twos? Small things = rieses pieces, M&Ms, pasta, french fries, etc. By the end of the bag/box/bowl, I can tell you if there was an even or odd number of items in that bag/box/bowl. I’ve been doing it since I was a small child. In fact, I can’t remember not doing it. Strangely enough, more often than not, it’s an even number. Not a very scientific study, I grant you, but my data clearly supports chaos theory.

And I’m wearing my new Sophie’s Toes Blueberry socks. My toes are happy.

And I’m the proud new owner of an incredible skein of Sophie’s Toes in Froggy, thanks to Suzanne (apparently she was the “a-hole” who bought “my” skein - oops!).

And I’m the proud new owner of an awesome kit with the pattern for Elfine socks and a beautiful skein of J-Knits in multiple shades of green with some brown, taupe and yellow, thanks to Nina.

You guys rock!

And in the spirit of suspense, I might break out my fancy green shirt and shoes* again tomorrow night, for a fancy dinner with a generous friend who’s flying up from NYC to take me out for my birthday, see the new house and donate to the Fund for the Historic Preservation of Ms. 1890. I’m a lucky, lucky girl.

Stay tuned … there might be photos.

*the matching shoes are open and backless (read: cold). Do women really wear that style in the winter? Do they intend to simply jump from cab to curb? Please tell me that this resurgence of 80s fashion means that I can wear handknit socks with the shoes. Or please give me permission to wear my newest cordovan Danskos. tee-hee! I’m so clueless … help!

Thank Dogod for the MBTA, because I present to you [drum roll] my finished Sophie’s Toes Blueberry Socks! Who-Ray!

Last night, Wifey had a Borders date with Nina, so I stayed home, gave Little Man the longest bath in history so we could have an entire conversation without interruption, snuggled in his bed while he fell asleep, popped LOTR-2Towers in the DVD, and curled up on the couch with a cone of yarn, formerly destined for an Eris. An hour later, I had a swatch for Arwen! I promptly washed it, measured it and moaned about the gauge. Then I woke up, boarded my train, and measured again. Magic! It’s perfect. I present to you [drum roll] the yarn for my Arwen*. Who-Ray!

*If you’re interested in joining the KAL, drop a note to ACardiganForArwen AT gmail DOT com.

I am tired, sore, emotionally unpredictable, and so happy. How can this be? No time to knit. or sleep. or eat. or think. or really blog. I’m covered in dust, swinging from a ladder, weilding a putty knife in one hand and a sanding block in the other. I am a student of joint compound, and a master of ceiling white.

Through this whole crazy experience, I’ve been surrounded by incredibly generous people. HUGE thanks to MafiaBro for an awesome weekend of work and play; Suzanne for an incredible birthday suprise visit and present;

Danielle for her mad sanding and wallpaper stripping skills;

Adge & Neek for performing Rent while scraping wallpaper;

Kat for warm brownies with caramel, cutting them with a corner putty knife, the bar, live music and beer;

Nina for spontaneous eating, precious wees, and an amazingly thoughtful birthday present. Wifey for serving many meals this weekend to many MafiaHelpers; and to Little Man, for moments like this:

LM: Mom, I’m a boy.
Mafia: yes …
LM: And you a girl.
Mafia: yes …
LM: And Halle Berry a boy!

[where he got that, I have absolutely no clue! perhaps there's a girl at daycare named Halle Berry?]

Back soon with real pics, yarn porn, and birthday fun. Did I mention that I’ll be 32 on Thursday?

My version of the Super Bowl dance goes something like this: Yippee. Weehe. Yippee. Weee. Happy Dance and slide to the left.

Yes!! It just keeps getting better! It’s a good day to be an American (and I don’t say that very often).

To appease, here’s a photo of my new house, henceforth dubed Ms. 1890:

She’s a cutie, huh? However, as I mentioned before, there are many challenges inside this cute house. Within these walls are 1,000 reasons why the house was within our non-existent price range. And I’m knocking them down one by one.* As soon as I have a few hours of daylight at home (probably Friday), I’ll post before-and-after shots.

*If anyone has a can of Pine-Tree-B-Gone, please send it to me at P.O. Box Will-Climb-&-Chain-Saw Avenue, Massachusetts.