Nom de Plume

She has the rather unfortunate name of Peaches, but she’s really a love.

Tramp stamp: This is what all the guys on Steve’s construction site call those big tattoos that cover a woman’s lower back. Sadly, this came about because of the “base girl,” a woman whose job is to install base trim, and who is obviously always bending over. The cause is not helped by the fact that she’s a retired stripper.

I was going to write a post about my adventures in shackitude, namely the 50 bazillion cars in front of the apartment building next door and the almost constant traffic. I think I’ll bypass all that for now, and cut a long story short. I wasn’t there–had left about an hour before–but there were shots, a police officer hit, and a hole in one of my windows that went straight through the curtain and straight into the opposite wall.

I have actually let a whole month go by without blogging. Actually, I’m pretty sure it’s longer than a month, but I’ve been focusing on the fact that my February 2008 listing in the archives will be … missing. Oh well, such is life. And life is good. The shack is shacky (more on that later). The kitchen is still far from being finished. Steve put two windows in my former office, but other than that, it’s still down to the studs. The dog is cute and furry. Steve is cute and furry too because he’s growing a beard. My soapmaking obsession continues, which means that my essential oil threshold (i.e., the most I am willing to spend for a single oil) just keeps increasing. Anyway, I’ve been working all day and my eyes are starting to blur; it’s time to rouse the snoring pug and go for a walk. Good night, sweet blog, good night.

(I hope not, but it seemed a fitting end.)