vanillafluffy: (Stan smile)
This is a classic case of "One thing leads to another". The original prompt was The Covenant, Caleb/Chase, Chase didn’t use at the pool . Which I filled. And did a follow up for. And got a request for here it is:

Brunch )

vanillafluffy: (TJ Hammond leather)
Bucky's side of 'Fun and (War) Games' (Chase Collins and the Winter Soldier bodyswap)

The B Side )

From a prompt:
Possibly more to come, depending on how many OTHER projects demand to be written.
vanillafluffy: (CATWS_WS1)
It is not his normal uniform; it’s a good deal more theatrical than that. Whoever has planned this mission for the Winter Soldier has a twisted sense of humor. The timing takes advantage of Dia de los Muertos, the Day of the Dead, which falls at the beginning of November. It is a remembrance of lost loved ones, a colorful celebration of painted skulls and flowers, a festival throughout Mexico.

In the midst of the revelry, one more masked face excites no one. Instead of his usual goggles and air filter, today the Winter Soldier wears the face of a skull. True, the hollow eye sockets reflect non-glare lenses, and a close observer might notice that the grinning teeth are punctuated with vents. Body armor is concealed under a ruffled white shirt and a plain black suit with a sunflower in the lapel.

He has four targets throughout the city, and he carries a cheap guitar case with his weapons. Each assassination occurs with his trademark precision.

One of the marked men he is able to target from a distance; an easy shot for him of fewer than a hundred yards.

The next is simple enough, from a balcony overlooking a parade route, he shoots the candidate and is out of the building through a back door while screams still echo from the street out front.

The third man is shaking hands with the crowd. The Soldier slips a knife into his ribs as he’s laughing at one of his own jokes. He slumps forward onto one of his well-wishers, and shouts of alarm follow his killer as he departs.

He stalks the final goal through chaotic streets, finally able to shoot him in a lull. From arm’s length, three quick bullets just left of center in his chest take him down. Somewhere close by, a woman screams, but the Soldier continues walking unhurriedly, checking casually for pursuit and finding none as he melts into the throngs.

Although he has been seen, locating one particular skull-face on Dia de los Muertos is a foolish and futile notion. There are whispers, rumors, and a legend that will live for years of the Festival of the Dead when the Spirit of Death walked among them.

From a prompt:

vanillafluffy: (CATWS_WS2)
Title: Two-Day Interval
Authored by: [ profile] vanillafluffy
Pairing/spoilers: Mention of prior Winter Soldier/Alexander Pierce
Rating/Work-safeness: PG-13 for language, consent issues
Approximate word count: 4,000
Disclaimer: All rights belong to Marvel
Betaed by: [ profile] hermit
Summary: Like the title says, what happened to the Winter Soldier between the time he left Steve on the riverbank and the Easter egg at the end.
Special guest appearance by Sabretooth (aka Victor Creed), probably familiar to most from the "Wolverine" movie. My interpretation of him owes more to the comics version than the film; in graphic canon, he's had a long career as a soldier/mercenary-type.

Two-Day Interval )

vanillafluffy: (Justified -- Boyd/Raylan)
The Harlan County Fairgrounds has sprung from the fields overnight. Whirling rides, flashing lights and colorful booths compete in a cacophany of over-amplified music and hucksters urging fair-goers to "Step right up!"

Amid the crowds, Boyd broods. This year, he is alone; last year, he'd come with Ava. Barring his deployment, he can't recall the last time he missed the county fair, and simple solitude isn't going to dissuade him. There are ample ghosts to keep him company.

Some memories bring an unconscious smile to his lips. Johnny and him playing matador in a pen of Four-H calves, going to the hoochie-cooch show with Raylan back before either of them was old enough to shave. Less auspicious are recollections of his father, always drunk at the fair, fighting or furious about losing all his money on the midway, playing games of chance that even a ten-year old knew were for suckers.

The air is perfumed with diesel fumes and cotton candy, hot dogs, cheap aftershave and a whiff of manure from the Agriculture pavilion. "Tell your fortue, mister?" a woman lounging in front of a gaudy tent suggests. "Only twenty dollars."

Well, why not? Not that he actually believes in such foolishness, but it might be amusing. Right now, Boyd is a man in dire need of amusement.

He peels a twenty from a roll of greenbacks as he steps into the tent. The interior is festooned with a few strings of white Christmas lights. Two folding chairs face each other across a card table. The woman, about his age, with a hairstyle that's straight from the '80's, tucks the bill into her clevage and indicates one of the chairs.

"What would you like to know about?" the fortuneteller asks him once they're seated.

If he had any faith at all in this hocus-pocus, he might ask about Ava's fate, or for advice about how to handle Johnny, or any of a number of nuisances that threaten his interests. But he's not that gullible, and certainly isn't going to confide his business to this Breakfast Club dropout.

He thinks of Raylan--not the boyhood friend who'd been up for any mischief, but the law-and-order version who's forgotten how to have fun, who seems to exist now only to thwart him. "Tell me about my friend," he says to the woman. "Is there any hope of things going back to the way they used to be?"

She has Boyd cut a deck of cards and begins dealing them face-down onto the table in a pattern he can't discern. When she has them arranged to her satisfaction, she begins turning them over, seemingly at random.

"A very old friend indeed," she says, studying the picture. "Since you were boys, yes? You were as one, like brothers. But Cain and Abel were also brothers, and yet one slew the other."

Indeed, Raylan had slain him, shot him in the chest in cold blood, and whatever entity, benevolent or malign that had spared him had brought him back from deep darkness to do so.

"Your friend...he is quarrelsome, it is his nature. He is like a knight who leads the charge into battle, whatever battle that may be...". The fortune-teller's voice is soft, as if she's reading a bed-time story. "He is a warrior...he is War"

Raylan is War? That would explain a lot, not that he puts any stock in such mumbo-jumbo, but it certainly is the distraction he'd come in here seeking.

"Death has touched you," she continues dreamily. "It's all around you. Friends, loved ones...all corrupted by this darkness. You are Death ..."

"Excuse me?" Boyd says sharply, and the fortune-teller blinks as if she's forgotten he was there. "That's a hell of a thing to tell a man!"

She seems bewildered. "I'm sorry, what?"

He doesn't think of himself as a superstitious person, but the shiver that ran down his back...his mama would've said someone just walked over his grave.

"Your friend," the would-be psychic says, as if he'd just asked the question. She peers at the cards in front of her, a little notch appearing between her brows. "You were close long're still close. You're two sides of the same coin. You can't have one without the other, but sometimes, you're too much alike and so there's conflict."

"Any suggestions?" he asks, an edge to his voice. True, he has killed people here and there, but he isn't exactly the Grim Reaper.

"Light is the answer to darkness," she says simply.

Whatever the hell that means. He stands up to leave, and she says, "That will be twenty dollars, please."

Boyd absently fishes a twenty out of his pocket for her, and gets out of there before she can say anything else. He's well away down the raucous midway before he realizes he's been suckered.

(From a prompt:

vanillafluffy: (Justified -- Raylan smile)
Justified, Raylan/Rachel, he kinda likes being put in his place

Justified -- Suppertime Blues

Raylan hates the hospital. He's been stuck here for 24 hours, being observed for a possible concussion and having his fractured leg set, but he's getting antsy. So far, Art's been in to give him Hell for screwing up in pursuit of the suspect. Boyd has visited and written rude things on his cast while he was doped up. Loretta has called looking for a ride to some concert or other.

Of course, that's in between having his temperature and blood pressure taken every time he gets comfortable and being fed questionable-looking things that don't taste like anything in particular. Supper is brown and green. Theoretically, the brown part is some kind of meat with gravy, but he honestly has no idea what kind of vegetable the other stuff is supposed to be. Hell, maybe it's soylent green.

There's also a little side dish of apple sauce. It does taste vaguely like apples, but awfully puny ones. Just thinking about what it ought to taste like puts him in mind of his Aunt Helen's apple crisp, tart and spiced with cinnamon, the apples cooked until they're soft, and how the crunchy topping was sweet and buttery. He regards the ersatz goo on his tray with disfavor.

There's no knock on his door, just a blur of pin-striped charcoal and Rachel enters carrying a plain brown shopping bag.

"You know I caught your suspect, right?" is her greeting.

"Art said. "

"Honestly, Raylan, what were you thinking, charging after her down those icy steps?"

"That she was wanted on fifteen counts of cashing Social Security checks that weren't hers," he says, sniffing. "Rachel, what's in that bag?"

"Nothing you'd be interested in." She looks at the tray in front of him. "Seeing as you already have a perfectly good dinner...."

"I wouldn't feed this slop to pigs," he grumbles, "and if I did, I'd probably get in trouble with the Humane Society."

There's a glint of mischief in her eyes. "You know, Raylan, there are starving orphans--"

"Technically, I *am* an orphan, and if I don't get some real food soon, I *will* be starving."

Rachel laughs and opens the bag. "You'd better eat it all," she says, mock-threatening.

The aroma makes his stomach growl audibly. He nods, licks his lips.

"We have fried chicken." Two golden-tan drumsticks emerge from a packet of foil. He sinks his teeth into the first one as a plastic container joins the feast. Rachel cracks the lid One whiff and he knows it's collards with bacon. "And I hope you like greens. If you're good and finish it all, there's dessert."

"You're an angel," he says fervently, grabbing the hospital's plastic fork and digging into the tender greens. They're moist and delicately salted from the bacon in them.

"Biscuit," she offers, unwrapping one from a napkin, and he uses it to soak up the juice from the collards.

"Pot-licker", they'd called it at home. His mama and Aunt Helen had both made it the same way, not surprising--thery'd both learned how from Granny--but Winona had never been much of a cook. Her biscuits came out of a can, and she didn't even like collards--said they smelled like burning rubber cooking.

Raylan doesn't have to be urged to eat. He applies himself to Rachel's gift and lets her scold him about his reckless ways, and it could be his mother or Aunt Helen chiding him for tearing his Sunday shirt or giving him what-for for any of his many boyish misdeeds. He chews and nods, and when the aide comes in to take his dinner tray, he just holds on to the foil and tupperware and makes sure that's all she takes.

There's nothing left when he's done. The drumsticks are gnawed down to the nub, the collards are gone, the container wiped clean with the biscuit, every crumb of which he's devoured.

Rachel looks at the scant remains and smiles. As she reaches into the bag, Raylan says, "If that's apple crisp, I'll marry you."

"Lucky me," she says. "It's chocolate cake. Coca-cola cake, to be exact."

"That's good too," Raylan says with alacrity. Aunt Helen made that every year for his birthday, and he flashes on her big pottery mixing bowl and being allowed to lick the spoon.

This has a layer of fudgey frosting atop dark, rich cake and the first divine chocolate mouthful makes him moan with contentment.

"Marry you?" Rachel chuckles, stashing the foil-wrapped bones and the empty tupperware into the bag. "Why in the world would I want to do that? I get enough of you at work. "

"You could stay home and cook."

"Not me. You'd be back in here with food poisoning on a regular basis."

"Introduce me to the cook," he suggests, words slurred by a forkful of chocolate.

"It would serve you right if I did," Rachel says, and starts talking about her aunt, and how jealous her uncle is, and Raylan just smiles and eats his cake.

These version is somewhat longer than the one posted due to their comment size limit. See
Follow-up of sorts to

vanillafluffy: (Tailfin stamp)
As they cruise into Albuquerque past a sign announcing "Historic Route 66", Stitch is still sulking. He's riding shotgun, ears sticking up on either side of his cowboy hat, mouth curved into a wide frown. He's been that way for nearly an hour, after Lilo vetoed a side-trip.

Lilo sighs. This trip isn't quite turning out the way she expected. Cobra Bubbles's gift of a VW Bug convertible when she graduated from high school had begged for a road trip. Stitch's passion for an old TV show about two guys traveling America in their sporty convertible had suggested an itinerary. Of course, she should have taken into account the whims and quirks of her erstwhile copilot.

Las Vegas had been a blast. They made friends with every Elvis impersonator on the Strip, and Lilo has a picture of herself next to Chumlee from 'Pawn Stars'. Roswell was amazing--they'd bumped into a cousin of Pleakley's, almost gone home with some tourists from Zeta Gamma 4, and made friends with a coyote who'd needed help catching a road runner. (They'd bought him a bucket of the Colonel's Extra-Crispy. He pronounced it superior, and less expensive than all the gadgets he'd been buying from Acme.)

They're banned from the Grand Canyon for life, though. It was just a little landslide, she thinks with a sigh. There's still plenty of canyon left. But the 80-foot tall carving of Lilo as an Indian princess is going to be baffling archaeologists for years.

Not all of the original Route 66 is still intact, but there's a strip of it running through Albuquerque. What the locals call Central Ave is lively, boasting carefully preserved vintage neon signs unrelated to the current businesses. There are motels that probably saw the glory days of the Mother Road, souvenir shops, cafes. There's something called the Tractor Brewery across from the Guild Cinema. It looks like the kind of town they could happily spend a couple days exploring--if she can just get Stitch out of his funk.

"Hey, Stitch, I'm hungry," she says casually. "I hear Rebel Donuts has the best donuts in town." His ears twitch, and Lilo knows he's listening. "The guidebook says they have maple-glazed donuts with bacon."

There's a happy croon from the passenger seat, and he bounces up and down.

Okay, that's better. The last thing Lilo wants is to be a buzzkill, but she really doesn't think it would've been a good idea to take Stitch to the Albuquerque volcanic fields--even if they are supposed to be inactive.

vanillafluffy: (Witch walk)
I created this LJ account eight years ago today. The landscape certainly has changed. Well, it was nice while it lasted....

vanillafluffy: (Ribbons curled)
Birthday greetings to [ profile] karaokegal!

I hope it's an epic one, Sweetie! Sorry, no fic this year. I tried to post a cute puppy, but couldn't get the stinking site to import it from my camera roll. So here's my traditional cupcake, with love:


vanillafluffy: (Warning cactus)
I just finished hanging up a bunch of clothes that actually fit me. I didn't stop because all my clothes were hung, I stopped because I ran out of hangers. Imagine a huge grin on my face, because the last couple of months have found me standing in front of my closet on Sunday mornings and swearing--everything I had was too goddamn big and looked like hell.

Having been unable to shop at all for the last year, and not even being able to get out and try stuff on, I didn't really have a grasp of where I was, sizewise.

The first hint came when I settled into my seat on the plane and discovered to my stunned delight that I no longer need a seatbelt extender. The last time that happened, Jimmy Carter was President.

GK had a large laundry basket FULL of goodies awaiting my try-on. Oh, the pretties! Most of them fit; there were more that were too large than too small. The cherry on it all was discovering GK and I are wearing approximately the same sizes--the first time in the more than 30 years of our friendship in which that's been true.

We went shopping--I picked up a pair of black Fashion Bug trousers, NWT, that fit divinely--SIZE 24! The pair I wore on the plane down are 26/28, which explains why I look like I've deflated. Of course, plus sizing is not an exact science--I'm wearing a simple black straight skirt that fits becomingly, and it's a 26--I also have several size 22 dresses and some 18/20 tops....

We want to a meeting the other evening, and I found out that I no longer have to fear being wedged into those stacking chairs--the kind with the chrome arms and legs. I've hated those chairs for decades, and now I'm safe from their torment.

Mind you, me attempting to get up from one of those collapseable folding chairs with the rods and the canvas could probably be sold to America's Funniest Home Videos. Managed it the other morning, though, watching the Balloon Festival. Magical! The balloons, although my eventual successful extrication from the wobbling canvas contraption was also quite satisfying.

This has definitely been the trip of a lifetime! Looks like I'll be staying a while longer, which I don't mind a bit. More as it happens!


Still here

Aug. 29th, 2013 12:15 pm
vanillafluffy: (Success failure)
I know it must seem like I've fallen off the face of the earth, but no. I'm not pushing up daisies YET.

I have no wifi or internet at home--even the neighbors' connection is gone--and I rarely seem to get to anywhere with wifi long enough to post. It sucks.

Still no income--I won't go into all the intricasies of trying to keep the lights on--but there MAY be some changes on the horizon--I'm not going to talk about them lest they be jinxed, but keep your fingers crossed for me, eh?

At the moment, I'm at the library, thanks to NJ, who's off running errands and will call for me and the books they're holding for her when she's done.

Thankfully, my sleep schedule has righted itself (Knock wood!)--instead of sleeping from noon to 7 pm, which I was doing for a couple months, I'm now snoozing from midnight-1ish til 7-8:30ish. For me, that's pretty good.

It's funny--Mb has broken things off with me--won't answer her phone or return calls and has unfriended me on Facebood--and I have NO IDEA why, but NJ and CF have both come out of the woodwork recently, and they're a lot lower on the drama scale anyway. NJ has taken me along on library visits, and a few weeks ago, CF treated me to dinner and a movie--I got to see RED2*, which was outstanding, and had steak at Ruby Tuesdays.

Ranger'sGrrl has also been helpful--she's introduced me to a different food bank; their records are computerized and you can only go biweekly, but on the bright side, I *don't* have to get up at 5 in the morning. (Which was Mb's doing--she'd get very annoyed if we weren't among the first 50 in the door.) She's going to be house-sitting soon, at a home with a pool, and has gotten permission for me to come over and enjoy the amenities. I'm looking forward to that!

I'm trying to think of what else might be of interest...nothing much. I don't get out much--PJ runs me back and forth to church, and I may have the occasional snack with J, who is also up to her ass in alligators. I'm not even going to start on all that! BigRed, bless her heart, sent me a new box fan, so I have two of those and the ceiling fan trained on me most of the time. [ profile] dine sent me a space opera and a CJ Cherryh that I hadn't read (and still haven't because I'm working on my contribution for The Exchange at [ profile] fic_corner.

That's about it. Nothing earth-shaking. While I may not be able to respond in a timely manner, I hope that won't stop you from commenting. I miss you all something wicked.


* Comments and possible spoilers for RED and RED2 )
vanillafluffy: (Chrysler bldg)
From a prompt at [ profile] comment_fic: Any cop series, any + any, "What do you mean, dinosaurs?!?". This was *supposed* to be a 50-word fic, but I got carried away---it's 150.

Dinosaurs on the Ninth Floor )

vanillafluffy: (Yay ME!)
The dates aren't set yet, but it looks like I'll be house-sitting for the C's in July. Hooray! Whole-house a/c and just *one* self-sufficient feline (and the Rosenweasel). There are other benefits, but those are the biggies.

vanillafluffy: (Florida oranges)
I was supposed to go up to Mb's on Tuesday--she had her carpal tunnel surgery last Friday, and I'm to do her heavy lifting for the duration. (Taking out trash, etc.) Except her hand is inordinately swollen, so her mom is taking care of her, and the new plan puts me there on Friday.

This is actually a Good Thing in most respects, as my act was nowhere near together on Tuesday. I'm busily making lists of what to take and what to do in what order before I leave, so I won't come home in a month and flee, screaming.

Today I finished doing the dishes that have been accumulating since the appliance transfer. Tomorrow, I'll be doing laundry. Before I depart on Friday, I'll turn off all the fuses except the fridge, and on my way out of the door, I'll be setting off bug bombs.

I'm trying to convince myself that a/c and cable will balance out litter boxes for a houseful of cats, but I have my doubts. Still, Mb needs me, and at least it gets me away from the hellhounds next door.


vanillafluffy: (Jeff Big Bird)
Car is dead. Got an estimate from my guy, whom I trust. He enumerated various things wrong wih It would have been cheaper to replace the motor, except I don't have a spare $750.

Gee, I wish I hadn't just paid Geico. Now I get to try to get it refunded, which I'm sure they aren't going to be too happy about. And I'm going to see if I can turn my tags in an get anything back for the unused part of the year...only a few months, but every little bit helps.

vanillafluffy: (Success failure)
The check finally arrived late Friday afternoon. Mb ran me to the bank, then kidnapped me for the weekend. Having spent the last couple weeks "married to my mailbox", as she ascerbically put it, it was wonderful not to have that weighing on my mind.

The combination of a cushy bed and a quiet neighborhood, to say nothing of not being completely stressed out of my mind knocked me out; I slept for ten solid hours Friday night.

Did a fair amount of running around Friday evening and Saturday. Stayed in Sunday morning---all day, actually---while Mb went out to see a friend's baby, leaving me to finish season 4 of Justified.

It was raining fish at oh-dark-thirty, so we skipped the food bank this morning---NOT as much of an issue as when I have no money at all---but we got out of her house and down to mine mid-morning so we could get my car hauled to her machanic.

I should've known better. Mb has crap luck with mechanics. But we got it hauled over there, then went to the bank so I could get money to pay J ahead for the phone (took care of May and June) and the three of us lunched at the Chinese buffet on the Island.

Was dropped off at my place around two, and despite having slept for ten hours the night before, I crashed for a two-hour nap. I know I've been stressed out and tired, but damn---!

Shortly after waking, I heard back from Mb's mechanic, who told me I need a new engine, supposedly because I'd spun the timing. That'll be $750, including labor, please....

I was born at night, but it wasn't last night. My daddy was a mechanic, and HE could change a timing belt. Replacing the whole freaking engine sounds like overkill to me. Perhaps coincidentally, he replaced the engine in Mb's car, too. Hers was still drivable, so I wonder what was really wrong---blown head gasket, maybe?

At any rate, I got ahold of the mechanic the C's use, who seems reliable. He's going to tow my car over to his shop in the morning and take a look. It may be that the darn car can't be saved for what I can afford, but I'm going to make sure and ask someone *I* trust.

That's where things stand now. More as it happens....

vanillafluffy: (Chrysler bldg)
After waiting to hear back from The Beatle (I emailed her on Friday and haven't heard a peep back yet), I jumped the chain of command and left a polite but urgent email message for the gentleman who contacted me regarding my W9, Figured if he was handling that, he much have *something* to do with payroll.

Got a call back in under 15 minutes. He says a check was cut and mailed out on the 15th of March, but he's going to cut a new one and Fed Ex it out right away, so God willing, I will have it Thursdayish. It's late enough in the day today that I don't *really* expect it tomorrow, although I'd be awfully pleased if it was.

Meanwhile, with a little help from my friends, I have caffeine, toilet paper and sundry groceries, etc. I was down to my last roll of t.p., which was making me quite nervous! Did that bright and early this morning, courtesy of Mb, who had an 8:15 bone scan scheduled. [ profile] thru_the_blinds, I let her sign the log-in sheet with my fabulous wooden pen, which she really liked. I may have to arrange a special Christmas present for her....

The scan took all of 10 minutes, then we hit Publix. I came home, worked til the mail carrier came through, then made that call when it was apparent that all I had was junk mail. (Well, a few coupons I might use, but mostly drek.)

Come to think of it, I still haven't had breakfast OR lunch. I think I'm going to go do something about that!

vanillafluffy: (horsecloud)
From a prompt at [ profile] comment_fic. Set about a week after the conclusion of Ladyhawke.

The Squire's Horse )
vanillafluffy: (Caffeine supply)
Last night, I slept for seven hours. I got up, had breakfast, and promptly slept for four more.

Despite that, my eyes prefer to stay closed, and my head feels like a soft-boiled egg that someone has hit with a spoon.

I'm hungry, but am unnaturally apathetic toward the thought of food. It's too much trouble. Especially since my kitchen is still a disaster zone.

This is what happens when I'm not properly caffeinated. Sucked down my last reserves on Wedsnesday and am now in the throes of deprivation.

It ain't pretty.

vanillafluffy: (2013)
This will be quick, because Person of Interest is on soon, and I have no way to record it.

The appliances have landed. There was minimal fussin' and cussin' getting them in, although restoring order to the chaos of the process in will take some doing. (And I thought I'd cleaned out the old fridge?! HA!) This one is MUCH smaller than what I'm used to, but that's okay; it has all its drawers (other one didn't have any) and the stove is low-profile and matches my almond sink.

Even better news: JtYG's friend, who helped him shift things, does roofing and says he can fix the hole I have for materials and a little something---probably about $100 total, which would be a godsend, since hurricane season is approaching again, and I've been concerned about that every time it rains---to say nothing of the critters tap-dancind thru my attic!

Now I'm going to whip up some Crystal Lite and go watch my boys and Bear be fabulous. Then Elementary, which is also fabulous.

vanillafluffy: (Yes yes maybe)
Because everything else is "no". Still no check, still no appliances.

The dining room table has a pile of stuff on it that's literally two feet high---maybe more---the garage door is blocked, and the living room access to the hallway has two chairs stacked with more miscellany---the only access is via the kitchen. Still, I've measured clearances, and there shouldn't be any problem getting the appliances in or out.

And oh God, I definitely feel like I've been shit at and hit. However, I *did* get a wild hair and attack the kitchen-most corner of this dining room this morning. Got all the dessicated potted plants out to the front porch, shifted crap and more crap around, and hefted the big microwave from the kitchen to the dining room, hooray, go me!

In the process, I uncovered a spider the size of a schnauzer in the process and shrieked. Also did something or other that has made my left knee quite grumpy. Still, even though I'm not so much cleaning as pushing things around and sweeping, the sense that things have changed (somewhat for the better, although I know I'm going to be hunting things for months), gives me a feeling of satisfaction.

At the moment, I'm dying for a cool shower and a nap. Not likely, though....



Apr. 10th, 2013 05:40 pm
vanillafluffy: (Housework blahs)
Still no paycheck. Still no appliances, altho' the latter doesn't bother me nearly as much. JasontheYardGuy is doing me (and Mb) a favor---the company is just being douchey. I'm willing to bet that they cut the check, ran it through their postage meter to reflect an appropriate date and have sat on it for a week. Fuckers.

Breathe...meanwhile, I have an atomic headache from stress, excavating, and lack of caffeine. Boxes are heaped on top of other boxes, which are piled atop tables, chairs and yet more boxes. Things are shoved under and behind and atop---wherever there's a crevasse of space. But! The front door opens wide, there's a path back to the dining room and turn left into the kitchen. Which is also considerably less cluttered than usual.

I may do some rearranging and shift the big microwave to the dining room end of the kitchen counter---but not until I've seen the size of the new fridge. Mb says it has the freezer in top, so it's bound to be narrower than the side-by-side; I may leave the microwave where it is, I'm used to it.

Am trying not to think too hard about insurance. If my homeowners policy lapses, I'm FUCKED. this is Florida, hurricane season is coming---what am I supposed to do if the house gets totaled, pitch a tent in the backyard?! Move in with Mb and the cats?

HUGE fucking headache....

vanillafluffy: (Yay ME!)
I *still* do not have a paycheck for February, which is stressing me mightily. On the bright side, Mb has negotiated a deal with JasontheYardGuy to get me a new used stove and fridge. As it is, my current stove doesn't have a working oven and my fridge only freezes in the winter. So yay, working appliances. And oh GOD, how I've missed having an oven! Hmm...I've got a package of leg quarters in the freezer I may roast to celebrate.

This transition necessitates massive cleaning so they can be delivered. Not because I care so much about JtYG's opinion of my so-called housekeeping, but just to get the darned things in and the old ones out. This requires a path from the front door to the kitchen at least 30" wide---and that's going to take some doing. But it's well worth it; that's two fewer items on the list of "Things That Are About to Drive Fluffy to a Raving Nervous Breakdown".

Getting both appliances at once means I only have to clear space once, and JtYG is going to haul the old ones off for scrap, also a Good Thing. I've found a sack of cans I didn't even know I had, probably not much more than a dollar's worth, but still welcome. Shoes are turning up---I really need to sort them, and probably discard a few of the rattier pairs. And the bags and piles of clothes from my closet-winnowing efforts are getting flung into a bigger heap Out of the Way.

Right now, I'm taking a breather, because it's warm and I'm trying not to over-do and keel over. I'm a little light-headed from my efforts, but I'm excited and happy at the thought of having Things That Work.

vanillafluffy: (tribute candle)
Margaret Thatcher

I remember vividly the day Margaret Thatcher resigned as Prime Minister. It was a Thursday, specifically, Thanksgiving Day, 1990. The reason I remember the exact date is because I was spending the holiday with my brother in Brooklyn. I'd slept---or more accurately, tried to sleep---on an air mattress on the floor, and I was nowhere near rested or ready to get up when my ex-SIL (They were divorced but still living together.) burst into the bedroom shrieking, "Margaret Thatcher resigned!" (She trained as an operatic soprano--believe me, it was a shriek, albeit a melodious one.)

Annette Funnicello

I don't have any Annette stories---the original Micky Mouse Vlub was a wee bit before my time---but that's a bizarre juxtaposition, isn't it? Annette and Mrs. Thatcher? I'm trying to imagine the chat they'd have if there's a line at the Pearly Gates....

vanillafluffy: (Florida oranges)
I got a ride to church this morning, which I'm thankful for. I got to wear my white dress---just to explain why this is A Big Deal, I got this dress more than ten years ago from HWSNBN's mom. I was at least five sizes larger then, but stubbornly hung on to it because I adored the idea of a classic white dress for summer. I know, Easter may be jumping the gun a little---it'll probably go back into the closet til Mother's Day, at least---but I'm so pleased to finally be able to wear it that I couldn't resist. I was afraid I'd look like a white elephant, but there *is* a figure of sorts there. Next time, I may try it with a belt....

It sure was nice to have something "new"---I *miss* shopping! The gold metallic sandals I have on went nicely with a gold shoulderbag GK got me at thrift store a few years back. That pin was one of Kat's that I originally gave her, from Avon; it's a pewter birdhouse with a little dangling bird. My hair looks like hell, but I'm still growing out the godawful cut I got last May. It'll give my next stylist something to work with, when I can afford it. I'd've had a hat, but I was half-asleep on my way out the door this morning. Too bad, I have a sweet little white fascinator that would've been just the thing. Ah, well!

Setting is the church parking lot.




vanillafluffy: (Default)

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