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which_chickI know that it's fucking lame that I post about #adulting as if I am some lost in the weeds twentysomething adrift after a degree program that generated only debt and not employment rather than a post-menopausal woman with a Real Job who Lives Independently but I gotta say, some parts of #adulting are easier than others, and this is true for a lot of people out there faking it until they make it.
There is a celebratory margarita in my hand in between typings, here. You might want a grain of salt with this post -- I sure do, but I didn't salt the rim because I've had enough salt already today. *le sigh*
For the book room project, I have progressed further along the road to completion.
I cut all the holes in the drywall and drilled the holes through the 2x4's for running the wire for the thermostat.
I partially disassembled the existing heater and located the incoming power wire for it.
I researched heating wattage appropriate for a 9.5' x 11' room AND also double-checked that it would be OK to run a 1500 watt baseboard heater on 12/3 wire with a 20 amp circuit breaker. (Answer: Yes! It's even up to code and stuff. Nice.)
I looked into programmable single-pole line voltage thermostat options and my hardware does about as well on price for that as amazon does. So yay.
In case you want to make your own delicious (non-festive) margarita:
2 oz tequila. I like nice tequila. Don't drink shit. Better tequila (shocker) makes better margaritas. You can do better fairly affordably.
Currently I'm on Espolón añejo, which I've been working through for a year. (The bottle. One bottle. I bought it in 2022. It's fucking nice. Under no circumstances should you be drinking anything less than a reposado for your margaritas. You are not twenty. Do better. This is a celebration, not a direct ticket to regrettable life choices and a hangover. Make it enjoyable.)
1 oz Cointreau. You can maybe use some other orange-flavored booze, some folks like Gran Marnier, but I use Cointreau.
Some 2x strength simple syrup, not too much. You just want to take the edge off the lime. Maybe a teaspoon?
Juice of one lime, please buy fresh. Rose's is not OK. Buy a fucking lime like an adult and squeeze it. Fresh limes smell delicious. Engage your senses.
Two very large ice cubes or several smaller ones. Larger ice cubes melt more slowly which I like.
Combine all items (except ice) in glass. Stir well. Add in ice cubes, stir a bit more to chill all ingredients. Like, you can break out the cocktail shaker if you must, but it's fine just to stir. This is a basic and non-festive margarita. (Festive margaritas have the shaker and a salted rim and smaller cracked ice and so forth. This is not that.)
It is so delicious.
I measured how much wire I would need to do both runs (from existing heater location to new heater location and ALSO from new heater location to thermostat location) and also made a parts list for the assorted parts needed to assemble all of that.
I cleaned up all the drywall dust and bits from cutting the holes and re-vacuumed the floor to keep things tidy.
I also (because drywall dust and because it's been an age) removed both filters from my "tenant left behind" dyson vacuum and hung them to dry.
And then I went to WalMart and bought jeans for work.
(This is the Bonus Adulting part.)
I do not fit into 12's at the moment. I want to, but I do not. I fit into 14's.
I have been putting off the purchase of jeans because I want to be 12's and not 14's. My existing work pants, of which there are three pair I can wear comfortably, are now... you can see through them. Hold pants up to light, wave hand behind pants and in front of light, and you can see it.
Denim, as I understand it, is not intended to be translucent.
They've been patched many times and the fabric is so, so soft and so, so worn. I washed the work pants on Friday and looked at them out of the dryer on Saturday and I am not sure there's another week in the work pants, at least not another week in which my ass remains covered for the entirety of the work day.
Whether or not I am a 12, will I, nil I, there need to be some fucking work pants.
So I went to WalMart and bought four pairs of jeans that actually fit me appropriately.
I bought the 14's. Adulting. There was a time when I would have bought the 12's and been uncomfortable at work with broad red lines from the waistband that lasted until late in the evening. That time has passed. Now we buy the jeans that fit.
I had to talk to a sales attendant to get a fitting room unlocked. (In the life of everyone who wears "women's jeans", there comes a time when they realize that absolutely every single jeans purchased must be tried on even if they are all the same "size" and all from the same company and all the same "style" or "design". EVERY SINGLE JEANS, EVERY TIME. Try them on. It's the only way to be sure.) I do not like talking to sales attendants and there wasn't one on site in the clothes area. I had to wander around WalMart with my arms full of Fat Jeans like a fucking waif to FIND someone who could unlock the fitting room. Talk to strangers. Make an effort. Ugh.
I had to try on clothes in a fitting room, which I hate. HATE. So much hate.
Because I was On A Mission, I did not try anything from manufacturers that I already know will never work for me. It does not matter how many NoBo (No Boundaries) jeans I try on or what sizes I try on or what "cuts" I try on. NoBo does not make jeans for my body type. Levis is the same as is American Eagle. Doesn't mean their pants are wrong or that my body is wrong. But none of those companies makes jeans that have a hope in hell of fitting me. Lee, for whatever it's worth, makes jeans that will reliably fit me. They've fit me since the arrival of The Ass in junior high and they continue to do so. Whatever they have going on with their patterns or models or whatever, their jeans reliably fit me and are not weird at the waist, inner thigh, or crotch.
So, I just got those and tried them on in the likely size. And they fit. I bought four pair, two light and two dark.
I was in and out of the store in under fifteen minutes with zero hair-tearing. VICTORY! We shall feast tonight like the Gods! (We shall have a margarita, just one.)
So that was my Sunday. Things Done and also some Adulting and how to make a very acceptable margarita.
There is a celebratory margarita in my hand in between typings, here. You might want a grain of salt with this post -- I sure do, but I didn't salt the rim because I've had enough salt already today. *le sigh*
For the book room project, I have progressed further along the road to completion.
I cut all the holes in the drywall and drilled the holes through the 2x4's for running the wire for the thermostat.
I partially disassembled the existing heater and located the incoming power wire for it.
I researched heating wattage appropriate for a 9.5' x 11' room AND also double-checked that it would be OK to run a 1500 watt baseboard heater on 12/3 wire with a 20 amp circuit breaker. (Answer: Yes! It's even up to code and stuff. Nice.)
I looked into programmable single-pole line voltage thermostat options and my hardware does about as well on price for that as amazon does. So yay.
In case you want to make your own delicious (non-festive) margarita:
2 oz tequila. I like nice tequila. Don't drink shit. Better tequila (shocker) makes better margaritas. You can do better fairly affordably.
Currently I'm on Espolón añejo, which I've been working through for a year. (The bottle. One bottle. I bought it in 2022. It's fucking nice. Under no circumstances should you be drinking anything less than a reposado for your margaritas. You are not twenty. Do better. This is a celebration, not a direct ticket to regrettable life choices and a hangover. Make it enjoyable.)
1 oz Cointreau. You can maybe use some other orange-flavored booze, some folks like Gran Marnier, but I use Cointreau.
Some 2x strength simple syrup, not too much. You just want to take the edge off the lime. Maybe a teaspoon?
Juice of one lime, please buy fresh. Rose's is not OK. Buy a fucking lime like an adult and squeeze it. Fresh limes smell delicious. Engage your senses.
Two very large ice cubes or several smaller ones. Larger ice cubes melt more slowly which I like.
Combine all items (except ice) in glass. Stir well. Add in ice cubes, stir a bit more to chill all ingredients. Like, you can break out the cocktail shaker if you must, but it's fine just to stir. This is a basic and non-festive margarita. (Festive margaritas have the shaker and a salted rim and smaller cracked ice and so forth. This is not that.)
It is so delicious.
I measured how much wire I would need to do both runs (from existing heater location to new heater location and ALSO from new heater location to thermostat location) and also made a parts list for the assorted parts needed to assemble all of that.
I cleaned up all the drywall dust and bits from cutting the holes and re-vacuumed the floor to keep things tidy.
I also (because drywall dust and because it's been an age) removed both filters from my "tenant left behind" dyson vacuum and hung them to dry.
And then I went to WalMart and bought jeans for work.
(This is the Bonus Adulting part.)
I do not fit into 12's at the moment. I want to, but I do not. I fit into 14's.
I have been putting off the purchase of jeans because I want to be 12's and not 14's. My existing work pants, of which there are three pair I can wear comfortably, are now... you can see through them. Hold pants up to light, wave hand behind pants and in front of light, and you can see it.
Denim, as I understand it, is not intended to be translucent.
They've been patched many times and the fabric is so, so soft and so, so worn. I washed the work pants on Friday and looked at them out of the dryer on Saturday and I am not sure there's another week in the work pants, at least not another week in which my ass remains covered for the entirety of the work day.
Whether or not I am a 12, will I, nil I, there need to be some fucking work pants.
So I went to WalMart and bought four pairs of jeans that actually fit me appropriately.
I bought the 14's. Adulting. There was a time when I would have bought the 12's and been uncomfortable at work with broad red lines from the waistband that lasted until late in the evening. That time has passed. Now we buy the jeans that fit.
I had to talk to a sales attendant to get a fitting room unlocked. (In the life of everyone who wears "women's jeans", there comes a time when they realize that absolutely every single jeans purchased must be tried on even if they are all the same "size" and all from the same company and all the same "style" or "design". EVERY SINGLE JEANS, EVERY TIME. Try them on. It's the only way to be sure.) I do not like talking to sales attendants and there wasn't one on site in the clothes area. I had to wander around WalMart with my arms full of Fat Jeans like a fucking waif to FIND someone who could unlock the fitting room. Talk to strangers. Make an effort. Ugh.
I had to try on clothes in a fitting room, which I hate. HATE. So much hate.
Because I was On A Mission, I did not try anything from manufacturers that I already know will never work for me. It does not matter how many NoBo (No Boundaries) jeans I try on or what sizes I try on or what "cuts" I try on. NoBo does not make jeans for my body type. Levis is the same as is American Eagle. Doesn't mean their pants are wrong or that my body is wrong. But none of those companies makes jeans that have a hope in hell of fitting me. Lee, for whatever it's worth, makes jeans that will reliably fit me. They've fit me since the arrival of The Ass in junior high and they continue to do so. Whatever they have going on with their patterns or models or whatever, their jeans reliably fit me and are not weird at the waist, inner thigh, or crotch.
So, I just got those and tried them on in the likely size. And they fit. I bought four pair, two light and two dark.
I was in and out of the store in under fifteen minutes with zero hair-tearing. VICTORY! We shall feast tonight like the Gods! (We shall have a margarita, just one.)
So that was my Sunday. Things Done and also some Adulting and how to make a very acceptable margarita.
