Epic Update is Epic
Jul. 26th, 2009 09:59 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
moonlettuceI kinda promised people an update and then didn't deliver on it. Because I suck. And not in the good way. Well, not unless you buy me dinner first...
So, here is the update of what has been going on in Claire's life since last we spoke...
So, as people are probably aware, since I've gone on about it quite a bit, I bought a house. The last thing left the old place at 10:10pm on Sunday 12th July, and we were done. The new place still has bin bags and boxes scattered around, but we seem to be getting there with the sorting and the more sorting and the even more sorting. Just, don't ask me to be able to find anything right now ::grin::
It's been kinda hectic and kinda emotional, since the only place I've ever lived in has been the old place. The family was in the other house for nearly 50 years, but we've had such a hassle off the letting agents (it's privately rented) for the past couple of years, that it just got to the point where I said "Fuck it," and started looking. Which culminated in me now being a home owner. Which is both exciting and terrifying.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
lost_house's dad commented that it doesn't start getting terrifying until you start talking seven figure sums. I didn't point out that, on my wages, six figures is quite terrifying enough, thank you kindly ::grin::
The funny thing is, in my head, the house thing is more representative of being a grown up. Which I think is why part of me keeps screaming "Do not want!" and another part of me keeps going, "Dude! You is on the property ladder!"
Anyway, the house (which is mine and shall be called Horace) is a three bedroom mid-terrace semi, with both a front and back garden. Which I need to mow! Dudes! I have never mowed a garden in my life! There shall be pictures at some point, promise.
I'm feeling thoroughly domestic as I am the proud owner of an iron (which I've never used), an ironing board (which I've also never used) and about 60 bazillion pans (yes, that figure is absolutely correct, just askalyse and temaris). I also feel that my domesticated status was thoroughly summed up by the contents of my shopping basket on Thurday: four packets of cookies, two tubs of Ben & Jerry's and a pack of 16 loo roll (it was on special offer and I now have two toilets). Yes, this is my life...
Part ofalyse's omg! i'm going to stop you from being buried in a pile of crap! campaign, we went out to see Ice Age 3. (As a total side-note, was it just me who got righteously pissed off during that movie at Manny's attitude towards Diego? Anyone? No? Okay, apparently it is just me who gets miffed at the behaviour of animated Mammoths, then ::grin::) Before we went into the cinema, we wandered around Borders. I was drawn, as is my wont, to the sci-fi/fantasy/horror section to find that Borders have added a Paranormal Romance section. Fair enough, it's a popular genre and, hey, I'm up for some good paranormal romancing as much as the next person.
I'm scanning through the shelves, and the Richelle Mead I can totally understand being there. The Laurel K Hamilton I can understand being there (on account of there not being a Badly-Written Skanky Mary Sue Porn section). The Christine Feehan I can understand being there (although people still have permission to shoot me if they ever see me actually pick up one of her books). The Stephenie Meyer I can understand being there (see also: Laurel K Hamilton). What I can't understand, and what has me giggling in the middle of the shop, is why, among all these books of heaving bosoms and vampire sighs and mighty werewolf shafts, the Supernatural tie-in novels are there.
Apparently, Borders classes SPN as paranormal romance.
Go figure...
Never, in all my days, will I cease to be amazed by the ability of a cat to throw up a pile of vomit that is indeed larger than her head. For truth, it is a skill...
Let me impart this piece of wisdom to you: don't wear a pair of New Rock boots without socks. 'But, Claire,' I hear you all call, 'everyone who isn't a numpty already knows this...' ::sighs:: Everyone who isn't a numpty being the operative phrase there. Yeah...
In a stunning display of what I like to call 'Claire has no brain', I needed to walk along to the old place and just whacked my boots on. Without socks. 'Bugger,' thinks I, as I'm nearly at the old house, because my ankle is really starting to hurt. It's hurting so much, in fact, that I have to take my boot off as I'm walking back, wrap my jeans around my ankle and use the denim as a barrier between my skin and the boot to stop the already forming blisters from getting worse. On the upside, at least my other ankle isn't hurting.
Cue me getting home.
Cue me talking off my boots to discover that the denim's kinda helped, but I've still rubbed a couple of pretty severe blisters into my ankle and taken off a small patch of skin on the side.
'That's okay,' thinks me, 'at least it's only one-- oh holy fuck--'
Because the ankle that wasn't hurting? Was possibly only not hurting so the universe could inflict the trauma of me taking my foot out of my boot to discover the skin that was on the back of my ankle has decided that hanging off the back of my ankle in various stages of flappiness is much more fun. Because, seriously, it just ain't a fun day until you've stripped the skin off the back of your ankle...
And if the ankle thing wasn't enough, I've apparently got swine flu. Or, at least, some sort of flu. Cue me being sent home from work on Friday after showing about four of the symptoms. I've now got a lovely course of Tamiflu from the NHS and orders to stay off from work for the next few days. I'm actually not feeling too bad at the moment, but that's possibly because I spent about 48 hours in bed and asleep. Apparently, the first couple of days are the worst, but people are still infectious up to 5-7 days afterwards. So, no work for me until about Wednesday or Thursday.
Er, yeah, I think that's about it. Questions? ::grin::
So, here is the update of what has been going on in Claire's life since last we spoke...
So, as people are probably aware, since I've gone on about it quite a bit, I bought a house. The last thing left the old place at 10:10pm on Sunday 12th July, and we were done. The new place still has bin bags and boxes scattered around, but we seem to be getting there with the sorting and the more sorting and the even more sorting. Just, don't ask me to be able to find anything right now ::grin::
It's been kinda hectic and kinda emotional, since the only place I've ever lived in has been the old place. The family was in the other house for nearly 50 years, but we've had such a hassle off the letting agents (it's privately rented) for the past couple of years, that it just got to the point where I said "Fuck it," and started looking. Which culminated in me now being a home owner. Which is both exciting and terrifying.
lost_house's dad commented that it doesn't start getting terrifying until you start talking seven figure sums. I didn't point out that, on my wages, six figures is quite terrifying enough, thank you kindly ::grin::The funny thing is, in my head, the house thing is more representative of being a grown up. Which I think is why part of me keeps screaming "Do not want!" and another part of me keeps going, "Dude! You is on the property ladder!"
Anyway, the house (which is mine and shall be called Horace) is a three bedroom mid-terrace semi, with both a front and back garden. Which I need to mow! Dudes! I have never mowed a garden in my life! There shall be pictures at some point, promise.
I'm feeling thoroughly domestic as I am the proud owner of an iron (which I've never used), an ironing board (which I've also never used) and about 60 bazillion pans (yes, that figure is absolutely correct, just ask
alyse and temaris). I also feel that my domesticated status was thoroughly summed up by the contents of my shopping basket on Thurday: four packets of cookies, two tubs of Ben & Jerry's and a pack of 16 loo roll (it was on special offer and I now have two toilets). Yes, this is my life...Part of
alyse's omg! i'm going to stop you from being buried in a pile of crap! campaign, we went out to see Ice Age 3. (As a total side-note, was it just me who got righteously pissed off during that movie at Manny's attitude towards Diego? Anyone? No? Okay, apparently it is just me who gets miffed at the behaviour of animated Mammoths, then ::grin::) Before we went into the cinema, we wandered around Borders. I was drawn, as is my wont, to the sci-fi/fantasy/horror section to find that Borders have added a Paranormal Romance section. Fair enough, it's a popular genre and, hey, I'm up for some good paranormal romancing as much as the next person.I'm scanning through the shelves, and the Richelle Mead I can totally understand being there. The Laurel K Hamilton I can understand being there (on account of there not being a Badly-Written Skanky Mary Sue Porn section). The Christine Feehan I can understand being there (although people still have permission to shoot me if they ever see me actually pick up one of her books). The Stephenie Meyer I can understand being there (see also: Laurel K Hamilton). What I can't understand, and what has me giggling in the middle of the shop, is why, among all these books of heaving bosoms and vampire sighs and mighty werewolf shafts, the Supernatural tie-in novels are there.
Apparently, Borders classes SPN as paranormal romance.
Go figure...
Never, in all my days, will I cease to be amazed by the ability of a cat to throw up a pile of vomit that is indeed larger than her head. For truth, it is a skill...
Let me impart this piece of wisdom to you: don't wear a pair of New Rock boots without socks. 'But, Claire,' I hear you all call, 'everyone who isn't a numpty already knows this...' ::sighs:: Everyone who isn't a numpty being the operative phrase there. Yeah...
In a stunning display of what I like to call 'Claire has no brain', I needed to walk along to the old place and just whacked my boots on. Without socks. 'Bugger,' thinks I, as I'm nearly at the old house, because my ankle is really starting to hurt. It's hurting so much, in fact, that I have to take my boot off as I'm walking back, wrap my jeans around my ankle and use the denim as a barrier between my skin and the boot to stop the already forming blisters from getting worse. On the upside, at least my other ankle isn't hurting.
Cue me getting home.
Cue me talking off my boots to discover that the denim's kinda helped, but I've still rubbed a couple of pretty severe blisters into my ankle and taken off a small patch of skin on the side.
'That's okay,' thinks me, 'at least it's only one-- oh holy fuck--'
Because the ankle that wasn't hurting? Was possibly only not hurting so the universe could inflict the trauma of me taking my foot out of my boot to discover the skin that was on the back of my ankle has decided that hanging off the back of my ankle in various stages of flappiness is much more fun. Because, seriously, it just ain't a fun day until you've stripped the skin off the back of your ankle...
And if the ankle thing wasn't enough, I've apparently got swine flu. Or, at least, some sort of flu. Cue me being sent home from work on Friday after showing about four of the symptoms. I've now got a lovely course of Tamiflu from the NHS and orders to stay off from work for the next few days. I'm actually not feeling too bad at the moment, but that's possibly because I spent about 48 hours in bed and asleep. Apparently, the first couple of days are the worst, but people are still infectious up to 5-7 days afterwards. So, no work for me until about Wednesday or Thursday.
Er, yeah, I think that's about it. Questions? ::grin::
