So Jake left us for his new home on Friday, which: SAD, but also I'm still pulling clumps of his fur out of the robot vacuum so it's like he hasn't really left! Good god, did that dog shed. I could knit us three new foster dogs with what I lint-rollered off the couch this morning.
This weekend I painted our dining room, after four full years of bitching about it. (Turns out one person's deep and abiding love for "rich deep chocolate browns" is another person's "oh my god why is everything in this house the color of poop?") Okay, it was more like painting one and a half walls vs. a full room, BUT STILL. You know how we do here.
YEAR ONE: I don't like that dark brown in the dining room. I am going to complain about it on a near-daily basis.
YEAR TWO: I don't know...maybe green would look nice? Grey? Blue? Peach? White? Wallpaper? Metallic stencils? Shiplap? Purple?
YEAR THREE: Ugh. We'll have to prime first, so never mind.
YEAR FOUR: HAPPY SATURDAY MORNING I JUST SENT OUT SAVE THE DATES FOR FRIENDSGIVING AND I REFUSE TO HAVE ANOTHER FRIENDSGIVING IN A POOP BROWN DINING ROOM I MEAN IT PUT YOUR PANTS ON, WE'RE GOING TO THE PAINT STORE MOTHERFUCKERS.
(I threw out the dining room curtains, which I also did not like, in hopes of inspiring a similar burst of long-delayed decision-making [different curtains? blinds? honeycomb? bamboo? shutters?] but so far we're just going with NO ONE WALK THROUGH THE DINING ROOM NAKED OKAY.)
Friendsgiving -- while very fun and a nice opportunity for us to invite people we know from a dozen different contexts so they can all be like, uhhhh so you know the Storches from...work? Neighborhood? Old neighborhood? Ping pong? You one of Amy's weird Internet people? -- is primarily something we do every year to light a fire under our asses and GeT sHiT dOnE. Carpets get ripped up. Walls get painted. Closets get purged. Weeds get pulled. I buy mums and fucking decorative gourds and just yesterday we finally put the Christmas decorations away.
(We didn't leave the decorations UP all year or anything; we just packed everything in boxes/bins and carried them down one half-flight of stairs to the finished part of the basement, where they sat for 10 months waiting to be carried down ONE MORE half-flight of stairs into the storage part of the basement.)
Also in the basement:
That is a proper, full-sized ping pong table. Jason bought it on Craigslist with the idea that we'd set it up outside on the back patio for Friendsgiving (because it actually does not fit inside, unless we were to purge almost all of the furniture).
"You know it usually rains or is super-cold by that weekend in November, right?" I asked him.
He ignored me, so MARK MY WORDS, we're going spend Thanksgiving watching TV and eating leftovers from atop that damn ping pong table. But I guess there won't be any room for us to then leave the Christmas decorations out in January?
(And yeah, that's the desiccated husk of a Trump dog toy impaled on the dart board. Don't ask. I didn't do it. I told the perpetrators that it seemed like a good way to get investigated by the Secret Service, but was informed that only happens if someone reports you, Mom.)