Time and Tide

Another much-needed day off today.

I've been spending endless hours trying to make bath bombs lately, in humidity of 85% or above. If you're a fellow bomber, you're laughing your ass off right now because from a technical angle making bombs in this weather is like trying to thread a needle while you jump up and down on a trampoline after drinking a couple of six packs and taking a handful of Ambien. I have lots of failed ugly warty bombs on hand right now and my frustration level is through the roof.

So, in a rare but delightful day off together, Jesse and I decided to head for the beach.

Bander wasn't invited, sadly - which is fine, because we've found some lovely folks to do his day care, and he hates water. So we dropped him off early, and headed out for a quick round of shopping.We had to do the shopping because we both needed new thongs and I needed a new bathing suit (NOT a thong). In fact, the bathing suit was a daunting task; I have a couple of problem areas.


I was hoping for something with a bit more coverage than my past suits - a vintage style would have been my most flattering option, like this little Victorian number.


We settled for an extremely basic black number from the clearance rack, and headed out for the Gulf of Mexico. We've been living here for six months now, half a year, and this is our first chance to get in the water. We chose Navarre as our baptismal point, although nearly any beach would have done. The water temp is 82 degrees, not quite bathwater yet - it'll get warmer as the year goes on - and there was a little choppy surf, but nothing like what we're used to.




It was certainly time to wash away some debris and pieces of the past, and time to soak up the local waters. We played and splashed in the water, stopped for a terrific seafood lunch, took a stroll, and picked up the dog. It was a lovely day.

Only one drawback, brought to you by my pale Irish skin:



SUNBURN. Dear god, I look like a cranky boiled lobster. Now shut up and don't touch me.

Eeeewww, Part Teeeeewwwww

Since I don't want you to end up looking at bugs, here's something awful that you can look at instead. Give yourself bonus points if you own any of the items shown.

Denim Disasters - The Ugliest Jeans Ever

EEEEEWWWW

Okay, it's going to be another post without pictures. That's because I'm kind and considerate and don't want to squick you out.

Because here's the thing: summer in Florida includes mandatory visits of Palmetto Bugs. If you've never seen one of these beasts, the first thing you should do is spend 20 minutes or so thinking about how lucky you are and then congratulate yourself for living somewhere reasonable.

Palmetto Bugs are Florida cockroaches. They're 2-3 inches long, not afraid of light, and they FLY. The effing monsters FLY. They also run toward you if you startle them. And they bite.

Bander is horribly confused by them. At first, he thought they were mice (yes, they're that big). One got in the house last night and he started chasing it until he actually got close, and then he got all big eyed and ran away. When a bug is big enough to scare away a hundred pound dog, it's pretty big.

I used my patented Palmetto Bug killing technique, which is to flap my hands like a wounded chicken and do my Special Roach Dance while I scream for Jesse to come kill it. When he isn't home, I either stun them with a broom and sweep them away - since I don't have to get any closer than the length of the broom handle - or, if I miss with the first whack and make the giant bug angry, I run away. Since they fly and I can't, this involves a lot of panicking and slamming doors. Of course Jesse is reading this while I type and keeps reminding me that they can crawl under the doors and now I'm afraid to ever sleep again unless I can find some sort of combo jammies/beekeeper getup.

Bugs are gross.

Love Shack

I both love and hate our current house.



(No, this is not our actual decrepit shack. It's close, though.)

I love the trees, of course. And I love the fact that we have workroom and workshop space. I love that it's an older house, and has some character and charm that you just don't find in new cookie-cutter houses. It reminds me of my grandmother's farm house from early childhood. When I look out at the yard I keep thinking I should plant tomatoes or keep chickens. (Neither of which I have time for, mind you.)

I hate the neighbors, or at least their hellspawn kids. I hate the fact that since our house is old, the rooms are very very small. Our queen-sized bed is damn near wall-to-wall, and that's in the biggest bedroom. And right now I hate the landlord.
Here are the things that have broken, since we moved in:

1. The heater, twice, during January. It was forty degrees in the house one night.
2. The plumbing. Apparently the pipes for the washer and dryer were installed by chimps, because if you do more than a very small load of laundry, the sink in the garage overflows.
3. The fence. We had to do our own repairs, just for Bander's safety.
4. The plumbing some more. There's a leak in the backyard somewhere. Which I suppose means that I don't have to water, which is fine.
5, And now.... the air conditioning has decided to be fussy.
This is indeed the South. I can't describe our natural surroundings without using words like "lush", "green", "humid", and possibly "dank". "Moss-covered" and "languid" are high on the list, too. It isn't truly hot yet, not full summertime hot, but it's warm. And if the house is empty during the day, when we get home it's in the high 80's inside, and dammit, we need a little AC to bring it down to a balmy and tolerable 79.



What we've learned about the landlord is that they will wait until I raise seven different kinds of hell before they actually fix anything. The plumbing issues are something we've been discussing since mid-March, and we've seen a plumber exactly once. He scratched his head, opined that they needed to replumb half the house, and drove off. That was the end of that.


They did fix the heater, since it was broken when we moved in and it was actually possible to get frostbite in the living room. They promised to send tree trimmers and fence repairmen, but that never happened because there wasn't any health risk. I bet I have to bitch a LOT before they worry about whether I'm a mite warm this evening.

I'm sure I could use the plumbing issues to break the lease. But I just got all the boxes unpacked, not that long ago.

What should I do?