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Ch@se Manhatt@n must know that we’re in the process of refinancing the house because we’re suddenly getting all kinds of calls from them wherein they try to get us to sign up for some lame-ass promotion so that they can suck even more money out of us.
Fuck THAT.
So yeah, we’re refinancing. We thought about doing it last year but decided not to for some reason. But earlier this week Fred talked to a guy (a refinancing guy, of course!), we decided that it would be worth our while. Thus, I’ve spent the last week filling out the somewhat confusing paperwork and making copies of bank statements, investing statements, W2s and the like.
Fred handed over the package to the guy this morning and a little while later the guy’s assistant called to let me know she was looking at the packet and everything was fine, except I’d forgotten to provide my social security number.
Duhr.
Someone’s coming to appraise the house in a little while. Since I’ve never had a house appraised, I’ll be interested to see what it’s like. What I’m hoping is that she’ll just wander through the house and won’t require anything of me, because I have no desire to follow her around from room to room.
I can’t believe I’m involved with things like “refinancing” and “house appraisals”. I guess this means I really am an adult, eh?
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I had a total Jessica Simpson moment the other night. We were sitting down to dinner and Fred said something about the Kale being too salty, and then we had a discussion about how much salt was on it.
“Sea salt,” I said. “1/3 of a teaspoon. Maybe you just took the Kale from the area of the pot where the salt landed. I’m not sure I stirred it in very well.”
I thought for a moment.
“I thought all salt came from the sea,” I said.
“Not all of it,” Fred said. “Some comes from salt flats.”
“How do they grow salt?” I asked.
SERIOUSLY. Let me repeat that.
“How do they grow salt?”
I knew, as the words came out of my mouth, that I was asking a question of epic stupidity. Fred gave me the same look Nick gave Jessica when she said “Is this fish or chicken we’re eating?”
“Salt is a mineral.”
“Oh.”
Next I’ll be turning down the buffalo wings because I don’t like buffalo.
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Kale, by the way, is awesome. Not only does it have a flavor that reminds me of chinese food (when cooked with garlic and a little olive oil), but if your digestive system is a little sluggish, it gets things moving along.
Two thumbs way, way up for the kale.
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I went outside yesterday to fill the bird feeders – which have been empty for almost a month because I am horrible at actually getting my ass out into the back yard and filling the feeders – and of course Mister Boogers had to go running out the door as soon as I opened it. I decided that rather than chase him down, I’d let him sniff around while I was out there, and then I’d take him inside when I was done. A moment later Miz Poo came outside and started sniffing around, and so I puttered around outside for a while, letting them sniff.
Then I got cold, so I walked toward Mister Booger, who apparently realized I was about to pick him up and take him inside, because he got this oh-so-casual look on his little face as if he was thinking “Hmm. What’s over here? I should sniff over this way!”, and he started quickly walking toward the side fence that he likes to hop over.
“Mister Boogers!” I said in my no-nonsense Mommy voice, and he stopped and looked up at me.
“Why you being bad?” I asked. He made a grunting noise at me.
“That’s right,” I said, and picked him up. Miz Poo watched from the patio, and I tried to shoo her inside, but she was having none of it. So I leaned down, Mister Boogers still in one arm, and picked her up.
Now, she’s a portly Poo. She’s gotten even portlier since we started her on the steroids to make her lip go un-puffy, so portly that Fred has taken to calling her “Tubby.”
NOT FUNNY.
My point is that she’s so portly that it’s not really possible to pick her up with one arm. You need two arms to pick her up, and I had the Boog in one arm. So I had to kind of squish them together while picking them up. The Boog reached over and sniffed Miz Poo’s back, and Miz Poo reacted as she usually does, by hissing hysterically and smacking him upside the head, and then he reached over and bit her on her back, and she flailed and hissed and smacked some more.
But I got the little shitheads in the house and got the door closed, so there was no fence-hopping for the Boog. He’s been absolutely wild ever since we shut the cat door. He wants OUT and when we won’t let him out, he runs around like his little stumpy tail is afire.
Fred bought a small bag of Kitten Chow last weekend because the container of Kitten Chow we had was about empty. (I’ve mentioned before that we give Spanky, Mister Boogers, and Miz Poo a few pieces of Kitten Chow as a treat every night, right? They LOVE it. Spot’s not usually interested, but every once in a while he’ll eat some).
So Fred put the bag of Kitten Chow in the bathroom closet, and a few days later he left the closet door open, and Mister Boogers hauled ass in there because he loves like hell to hang out in there. Naturally when he saw the bag of Kitten Chow he decided to do his best to get into it, and started ripping the bag open. Fred took him out of the closet, but every time either of us has opened the closet door in the past few days, Mister Boogers has run right in and done some more ripping. This morning I decided to put the bag on the shelf so he couldn’t reach it (yes, it took me almost a week to figure that out. Nothing gets by me!) and when I picked the bag up, about half a cup of Kitten Chow fell out and scattered all over the bathroom floor.
Mister Boogers and Miz Poo were in hog heaven. I went downstairs to exercise, and when I came back up, every single piece of the Kitten Chow on the floor had disappeared.
As much as Mister Boogers eats, I’m surprised HE isn’t a little portly. I guess he burns it off with all the spazzy running around.
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Something hath disturbed the Boog.
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