The Devil made me do it. Hillary is the devil. An awesome devil. With fantasic taste in internet friends. Modest, internet friends.

Hello my little pretties (and your little dogs, too, if you have 'em--Hi to Nic's new pup!). And "HI!" to a lot of new readers that sent me sweet e-mails, totally loving me up and begging me for a triumphant return! Okay, so maybe the e-mails were more along the lines of, "You. Nice blog. Write again?" I'm nothing if not realistically accurate. And honest. Don't forget my glorious honesty.

I'm back for a brief bloggy moment.
A bloglette, if you please. Well, sort of a wind-bag bloglette.

Hills composed a lovely, stalk-y* post about yours truly and my wee bit o' absence from the internets. No, I've not gone to that great big blog in the sky, nor have I forgotten about my little slice of superficial heaven here on blogspot--I've simply lost myself in the mystic realm that some refer to as home remodeling and repair. I lovingly refer to this realm as OH MY GOD BURN IT, BURN IT DOWN! GOD!! DOES GROUT EVER DRY??? OH MY GOD, WHAT'S THAT SMELL?? OH MY GOD, GAS! GAS! GAS! WE'RE GONNA DIE! OH! THAT'S JUST THE SMELL OF MILDEW? MY BAD.

I could go on (and you just know that I will)........

Instead of a hugely long, drawn out story (my favorite kind to tell!), let me share some small bits and bobs through bullet points. And swearing.

It's the "grandma-house" we've always wanted.
The putrid, coral shutters and peeling shaker siding are pure bonus!

• Yup, we bought our first home.
• And dammit all to hell and back in a boat, this house is just chock-full of especially f-bomb worthy surprises.
• Before I get to the next bullet point, I shall say that I really love this house, it has tons of potential and I can't even tell you how great of a deal we got on it. Unspeakably great.
  
• Here's some math for the ages: How many sub-floors must be present under the latest layer of bathroom flooring? If you answered 76 and a half, you're close. I swear, the f-tards that previously owned this home followed the basic guideline of asking themselves, "Hmm, wonder what the housing code is on this? Nah. Let's do the violation instead. I hate the Over-Thinker and C. Let's give them the pain."
• If you're in the market for a vinyl, rail-like, arm rest about yay big, from a disgusting wet-bar, and totally fitting of a 1974 rumpus room, shoot me an e-mail and I'll send it to you.
• And if you ask nicely, you can also have the shuffleboard court made out of asbestos squares. Fun for the whole family!
• And if you say, "With a cherry on top, Over-Thinker," I'll throw in a bathroom cabinet from above the shower that was hi-jacked from the kitchen in a bid to create efficient! storage! ABOVE (??) the bathtub.
• Don't get me started on our concrete side yard. See, when you purchase a home in the bowels of a Minnesota winter, you sort of take your chances on what may or may not lie beneath the 65 feet of snow. Oh wait, you thought there'd be tundra? As in grass? Oh, you silly little moron, of course there's no grass. The realtors simply shoveled a little pathway of snow off the basketball court of doom in our side yard, making it appear to have grass on either side. Asses. ASSES.

So, remember those "How I spent my summer vacation"-papers you had to write in school? I'm thinking of composing a "How I spent my 30's"-paper for my blog. It will consist of home repairs, drinking, swearing, drinking and spending money. And blogging. Because Hills said so.


*Bring it--as stalkers are awesome if they're just friends posing as stalkers, posing as limerick authors.