more matter | less art

I can’t do it with a clear conscience, no matter how sick I really am. Don’t get me wrong: I miss days sometimes. Friday, for instance. I told the bookkeeper on Thursday morning that I would muddle through the day but that I needed time to rest. All is well. I take the day off and spend it (and the weekend) mostly in bed.

Well, then comes today. I’m still sick, and it’s now manifested itself into this hacking, phlegmy, stuffed-up experience. Do I call in? Nope. I could. I have 19 sick days built up. But I feel bad. Two days in a row? I can’t do that. So I drag myself to work.

The MINUTE I walk into the door, a voice calling my name informs me that Mrs. X is out (again) and we can’t get a sub… can I give her 30 minutes of my planning? I grit my teeth and say I’d be glad to, then I walk down the hall with my co-worker, grumbling all the way. This person ALWAYS misses. An average of 2-3 times a week. Seriously. And I’m not saying it’s not for valid reasons. She’s just old and refuses to retire. She wants to milk it. I have to tell you, though, if I could miss work that much without consequence, I’d be staying past 30 years myself.

The moral of the story is that trying to do the right thing gets you screwed. Oh, and that you should probably do the right thing regardless of this knowledge. ::sigh::

I did get to come home and watch 24 with the hubby, though. Jack’s brother is an a-hole. I predict he will be eaten by Siberian White tigers before the day is up. Anyone?

At least when it comes to new sites. I’m sure it will wear off eventually.

We just returned from a Starbucks run, the result of which is a delicious grande Cinnamon Dolce Latte. Dear Lord, that thing is good. As of late I’ve been especially impressed with SB’s ability to serve drinks at the perfect temperature. Tis a hard art to master.

The rest of the night is going to be devoted to the following:

drinking my latte

watching My Super Ex-Girlfriend with the hubby

grading papers

planning next week’s lessons (or at least tomorrow’s)

Sorry folks, number 1 on the list awaits.

Update: I actually did everything on my list. I never do that! Bonus points for me.

That’s what it feels like, at least. I hate filing taxes. HATE it. I hate it even more now that I have to do it “married filing jointly.” Neither one of us is organized enough to have everything we need, so it turns into this ridiculously long, squabble-filled event that just doesn’t seem worth the 800+ we’re getting back (I am exaggerating here… I do love the $$ at the end of the day). Why do they have to make it so complicated, though? Why the hell does my signature have to consist of last year’s AGI? Why does it take 7 different different documents to figure out that the standard deduction is more anyway?

Damn you, IRS. I am now more than ever a proponent of the standard deduction based on a % of your income. Life would be so much easier that way. No complicated forms, no stupid ads contending that “we got people,” or “we got the box.” Just take my money and leave me alone.

I should have put this off longer. I am in no state to be dealing with the government.

Solution? Clean like a maniac. method will cure me.

How many phases of sickness can there be? Seriously. I need some hot chocolate.

I just took 30 pictures with my cell phone of the new house. That’s quite a few to digest at once, so I’ve decided to post them in sections, sorting them by room. Since I am a woman with a new found love for all things culinary, I decided to start with the kitchen. The hubby would probably have started with the garage (probably last on my list), but I beat him to it. Ha!

As afore mentioned, they were taken with a cell phone, so don’t fuss about the lack of quality. You’ll get the gist of it.

::drumroll please::

This photo is taken from the dining room entryway, facing the kitchen sink. The hubby installed that handy dandy new faucet just a couple of days after we bought the house, and it in itself made a world of difference. Also notice that there is a dishwasher, but it spews water. That’s no good, so it’s on our list of appliances to get.

This one is taken from the back door, facing the stove/oven and general workspace. I love the built-in oven. It’s a bit on the small side, but it brings me back to my youth when I lived on the farm with grossmommy and granddaddy. Happy memories. Notice the awesome vintage tile that serves as a backsplash (it’s by the sink, too). That was actually one of the selling points for me. This is a good shot of the re-painted cabinets and new hardware that we put on. They used to be a light blue color (it’s still on the top trim in the other pics, if you can make it out), but we wanted a warmer, more country feel, hence the new Boston Brick by Behr. I love them.

Not too much to see here. This is standing next to the sink facing the other end of the galley kitchen. The fridge will go over there to the left, and our microwave cart should fit snugly underneath that window. My bro and his girl got us a convection oven for Christmas, which we plan to put on the counter on the right.

This was a pleasant surprise for us. The kitchen ceiling (and all of the other ceilings in the house) used to consist of these cheap, white cardboard tiles, but we took a chance and ripped all of them out to see what was underneath. Some of the other rooms weren’t in great shape, but this is what we found in the kitchen. LOVE IT. It goes perfectly with my kitchen motif (“french countryside” for the record).

More to come…

You might find this site mostly (but not totally) inactive from here on out. The hubby and I are going to be blogging together over at cwsquared.wordpress.com

See you there!

Every now and then I attempt to cook. On occasion, it actually turns out well. Case in point, last night. I combined some angel hair pasta noodles, green beans, Stove Top stuffing, and a good dose of teriyaki sauce. Add some cornbread to the side. Man, it was good! The hubby agreed, and my cuisine ego was puffed up a bit.

Top Chef has added to this desire to cook. It makes me want to add cranberries and crap to my food, though, and I’m not quite skilled enough to pull that off.

(by the way, I’m totally going for Ilan)

I need to give my concoction a name. Thanksgiving Pasta. Yeah, that works. My tummy is growling; it is time to re-heat.