next stop

so, we were finally booted out of our digs across the street from the job site. yes, the neighbors got paroled. we packed our bags and moved downtown to what i like to call some fancy ass high rise living. the walls are made of glass! there's a concierge! the air is circulated! garbage chute? yes! a garbage chute! and, as a bonus, there's no lawn to mow and no firewood patrol. let me back up. firewood patrol: where i wheelbarrow around the yard picking up scraps of lumber while at the same time making a number of highly-technical, potentially-critical wood decisions. a. is it plywood and is small enough to be recycled? b. is it plywood and big enough to be used for a picket sign in the future? c. is it burnable and can we use it this winter for firewood when the heat still isn't installed? d. is it pressure treated in which case using it as firewood would destroy 16% of my remaining brain cells? e. is that another splinter in my finger? f. i'm hungry. i wonder what we have for snacks in the makeshift kitchen.

it's hard. i'll be standing there with a piece of wood in my hand, running options a through q and joren will shout down, "Hey get a move on, wouldja, Sweetie?" so i do. sort of.

so, here we are. 15 floors up. almost in heaven, except we're still alive to enjoy it! no harps or wings, though. damn, i've always wanted a harp. AND there's a dollar store just out the front door! have you ever been? things are A DOLLAR. each. a modest sized bag of pork rinds? one dollar. really thin foil? one dollar. a bag of what i thought was shredded cheese, only to take it home and read on the packaging "not intended to be melted"? ONE DOLLAR. so, there you have it. we're officially fancy in the building right next to the dollar store. i'm going to get a roll of quarters this week to start tipping the guy who opens the front door for me every time i leave or come back from the dollar store. which is a lot.